Women Centre Stage: The Dramatist and the Play 9780415563147

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Women Centre Stage

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Women Centre Stage The Dramatist and the Play Poile Sengupta

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First published 2010 by Routledge 912–915 Tolstoy House, 15–17 Tolstoy Marg, New Delhi 110 001 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Transferred to Digital Printing 2010 © 2010 Poile Sengupta © ‘Introduction’ Shashi Deshpande

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-0-415-56314-7

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To my husband Abhijit, who shares my theatre madness and helps me balance the formalities of the stage with its magic.

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Contents Preface and Acknowledgements Introduction by Shashi Deshpande Mangalam Inner Laws Keats Was A Tuber Alipha Thus Spake Shoorpanakha, So Said Shakuni Samara’s Song About the Author

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Preface and Acknowledgements The six plays in this volume are distinct from each other in structure, theme and style. What is common, though, is that they all place women centre stage. This is a subliminal choice. Only metaphysicians and psychologists can perhaps tell whether the gender of a writer is directly reflected in his or her writing. All I know is that when I write, I do so with the consciousness, the sensibility that is mine. However, I have always been troubled about the status of women, and children, who seem to be the worst sufferers in any conflict, whether familial, social or political. I believe these plays express my deep concern. The collection also underscores, I hope, my attempts at manipulating the English language. I enjoy the challenge of fashioning the grammar of an English sentence into what is essentially an ‘Indian’ syntax. I am grateful to Shashi Deshpande for so readily accepting the task of writing the Introduction to this book. I have always treasured my friendship with Shashi, who has been my inspiration in many ways. I acknowledge with love and gratitude the contribution of my children, Anasuya and Aditya, to my writing; they are with me always, sometimes as encyclopaedias, at times as cheerleaders and always, in the gloom of a writer’s block, as my lamp bearers.

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Mangalam was first published in Body Blows: Women, Violence, and Survival — Three Plays (Seagull Books, 2000); I thank Seagull and Anjum Katyal for that early publication. Publishing drama in India is an act of faith. I must thank my publishers, Routledge, particularly Prabir Bhambal and Omita Goyal, my editor Pallavi Narayan and all those who have helped in bringing out this collection.

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Introduction Shashi Deshpande It is a truth universally acknowledged (to borrow the words of a great writer) that anyone in India who writes a few short stories will move on as swiftly as possible to writing a novel. Poile Sengupta is perhaps one of a very small minority who voluntarily moved from short stories to drama. One has to concede that drama (like her other preference of writing for children) is not a very popular choice among English writers in India, if we take into account the number of dramatists in IWE (Indian Writing in English) even today. Unlike poetry and fiction, few writers have ventured into the field of drama. If I were to take my own example, I grew up in a home dominated by drama, with a dramatist father who was also the centre of an amateur performing group. And, therefore, actors, rehearsals, dress rehearsals, the stretched nerves and the crises of the day of performance, the chaos backstage, the magical transformations that happened in the greenroom — these were part of my childhood. Besides, the library at home contained drama ranging from Tolstoy to Shaw and Ibsen, from Tennessee Williams and Eugene O’Neill to Sean o’Casey, Arthur Miller and Terence Rattigan, from Kalidasa and Bhasa to Bhavabhuti. I read them all. And yet, when I began writing, I wrote short stories at first and then turned to the novel. The idea of writing drama never occurred to

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me. To look for the ‘why’ is to get a glimpse of the peculiar place of drama in IWE. There is no doubt that a writer is born to a genre, so to say. It is hard, for example, to think of Dickens writing poetry, or Emily Dickinson writing a novel. Nevertheless, the poor presence of drama in IWE is something that stands out, especially when contrasted to the spectacular success of the novel, the steady progress of poetry and the latest surge of good writing in nonfiction. Even more so because, except for a few hiccups in between, drama has been the strongest and most popular form of literature in India, the most vital of the performing arts. If we go by what the Natyashastra tells us (itself, surely, a unique treatise on drama — the oldest and the most detailed), the history of Indian drama began, as so much in India does, with the gods themselves, who, it is said, requested Brahma for a fifth Veda which would be accessible to all the castes. Brahma then took elements from the four existing Vedas (text from the Rg Veda, music from the Sama Veda, action from the Yajur Veda and rasa from the Atharva) to create drama. The story goes on to say that the sage Bharata was then requested to put on a performance, which he did with the help of his hundred sons and the apsaras. The play was called ‘The Defeat of the Demons’ and inevitably the performance was disrupted by the rakshasas. (An early example of the power of the audience!) More interesting, however, are Brahama’s eloquent and placatory words to the

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rakshasas about the benefits of drama: ‘It preaches, yet delights, it entertains, yet is reasonable, it teaches, yet is broadminded.’ A charming and meaningful story, but one which does not end there, for drama went on to being, apart from the two epics, the most successful literary form in India. Dramatists like Kalidasa, Bhasa, Bhavabhuti, Shudraka, Sri Harsha, etc. are part of our literary heritage and plays like Abhijnanasakuntalam, Uttararamacharitam, Mrcchakatikam or Svapnavasavadatta are performed even today in the original Sanskrit as well as in translations. This strongly established tradition of drama continued for centuries, faltering with the weakening of Sanskrit, but soon moving on to non-textual performances, and finally finding a rightful place in the newly evolved bhashas. Drama went on adapting itself to the times, responding to historical and social circumstances, imbibing new influences, even the western influence, diverging into rural and urban, professional and amateur, traditional and experimental, so that most of the bhashas had a strongly established theatre during the last century. What place does English drama have in this tradition? ‘The story of Indian drama,’ says Sisir Kumar Das, ‘is extremely tortuous and more dramatic than that of any other genre.’* The story of Indian drama in English is, however, almost a blank. While poetry and prose writers in English did somehow cross the

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barrier, drama found it hard to even make a start. English drama in the earliest days meant the plays of Sheridan or Goldsmith performed by the English for their own audiences. Even when, much later, original plays began to be written by a few writers (Asif Currimbhoy, Gieve Patel, Nissim Ezekiel, Gurcharan Das, Dina Mehta, etc.) they remained texts and were rarely performed. When, in the sixties and seventies of the last century, Indian drama in languages like Hindi, Marathi, Kannada, Bengali were being revolutionised, with talented writers, gifted directors and actors and a rapidly growing and enthusiastic audience, Broadway and West End hits continued to be staged in English in cities. The reason for this lies in the lack of these very things that revitalised drama in the bhashas. The fact is that drama, if put in the context of literature, is the most difficult of genres, because it is ‘the most dependent’**: dependent on actors, directors, theatres, an audience. English drama in India suffered from a lack of all these. But over and above these things, English drama in India faced the problem of language. Raja Rao’s often quoted words, ‘one has to convey in a language that is not one’s own the spirit that is one’s own’, apply much more to drama than to fiction. Reading a novel is a private matter. It is somehow possible to read the words of an Indian speaking English without too much discomfort, since the words register on the mind without being spoken aloud. But to hear the words being spoken

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by an Indian, especially by someone who would not be speaking English in real life, seems not just unnatural and wrong, it destroys the very illusion that drama seeks to create. Apart from this, drama needs to use colloquial language, which increases the problems of writing in English. How does one get the different voices varying according to region, class, caste, education, etc.? What kind of English does one give an uneducated person, for example? How do we ‘translate’ the language when there are possibly no words in English for what is being spoken? These problems arise in fiction as well, but fiction writers and poets have struggled with them for years and most have reached a kind of language that seems to work. The dramatist’s job is much harder, because the actor is ‘speaking’ directly to the audience; nothing comes in between. The impact is immediate. Besides, the characters are not on a page, but right there, in person, before you. But writers have never lacked courage. They keep trying for what seems impossible and each failure make it more possible, perhaps, for another writer to get nearer to the mark. And Poile Sengupta heroically plunges straight into this problem of language in her very first play, Mangalam. ‘Drama,’ says Sengupta, trying to explain its attraction for her, ‘has to make thought visible in speech and action.’ She sounds almost like R. K. Narayan, who is said to have dealt with the problem of language by ignoring it. Sengupta, however, does not bypass the problem; she confronts it and meets it head-on

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in Mangalam. In Mangalam, Sengupta not only manages to convey, through the lilt and rhythm of the words, and through the syntax, the idea of Tamil being spoken, she also talks, or rather, makes her characters talk, of this very problem of language. Mangalam is a deceptively simple and conventional play and, for a first play, a very confident one. There are the usual two acts, but the first act turns out to be a ‘play within a play’ and soon the two acts begin to mirror each other. And it is the self-critical mode of the second act that squarely brings in the issue of language. Mangalam is intensely concerned with a language — the English language as used by writers, specifically. ‘The script sounded like a translation,’ a character says about the ‘play’ they have seen. ‘In actual life a family like that (a small-town Tamil family) would not use English at all,’ another says. In a way, this self-critiquing mode helps create a sense of verisimilitude. Keats Was A Tuber is even more self-consciously concerned with language. It actively and consciously brings in the idea of ‘Macaulay’s children’, of colonising through language, of language alienating one from one’s roots and reality as well. The play goes to the heart of the problem, which is the teaching of English in India, and the entire action takes place in the staffroom of a college. The narrator’s words at the beginning, ‘Have we been enchanted so as to wander forever homeless?’ and at the end, ‘Language is a travelling. It can never arrive,’ set the parameters of

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the play and the play finally moves beyond words into a human tragedy. Alipha too deals with words, though less with a specific language than with the power of words, with empowerment through learning. The teaching of the Indian alphabet through corresponding sounds that are distilled human emotions — pain, fear, surprise, pleasure, etc. — is fascinating. A powerful, if a dark play, Alipha also brings in a feminist perspective more positively than the earlier plays did. Sengupta’s natural flair for comedy comes out strongly in Inner Laws which is a romp with fast-paced action, invoking the healthy laughter of women laughing at themselves — something that is, perhaps, the final stage of feminism! Inner Laws also reminds us that plays are written to be performed, for it is a play with an all-women cast, a feature that makes it practically very useful. Something that Sengupta knows and understands. Unlike other literary genres, drama is an activity, it is meant for performance, not reading and is consequently closely connected to the actual needs of the theatre and the practical demands of the stage. Therefore, the dramatist needs to be closely linked to active theatre (one of the reasons mooted for there being fewer women dramatists). Bhasa is said to have lived among actors and so did Shakespeare. Even today, most dramatists have some connections with performing groups and performances. Sengupta, too, has been lucky to be

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part of a theatre group, to be an actor as well, and in her plays she shows an understanding of the needs of the theatre. The different techniques she experiments with after Alipha most surely come out of her hands-on experience in the theatre. In fact she moves on to a different track after this, eschewing realism altogether. Thus Spake Shoorpanakha, So Said Shakuni is a very interesting play, not only because of the technique and theme, but also its treatment. Sengupta effortlessly brings together two villains from the two different epics: Shakuni from the Mahabharata, hated even today as the man who fanned the conflict that led to the war and Shoorpanakha from the Ramayana, less a villain than an object of ridicule and contempt, not given the dignity even her villainous brother Ravana was granted in the epic. The play is set in an airport, within the context of a delayed flight and the threat of terrorism. The myths have been upturned very casually, with no attempt at solemnity, yet very effectively. And both these villains show us another side of themselves, without shedding their murky pasts. They are victims as well as vengeance seekers. And while seeming to replay the roles allotted to them by history, they struggle to redeem themselves and do so in the end. This is a very eclectic collection and Samara’s Song is very different from the rest of the plays, in theme as well as in stage technique. Samara’s Song is a risk-taking play, ambitious and larger in

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scale, a kind of political allegory which deals with power, the manipulation of people to gain power, and the use of language in such manipulation. Once again, as in Keats Was A Tuber, the wordless person becomes the strongest symbol, and the songs of the mute woman Samara are the not just the leitmotif in the play, they are, finally, a symbol of continuing resistance. ‘Roots must grow in three directions in theatre today — they must go down into the socio-political culture, the history of the language and the traditions of the theatre’ (Shanta Gokhale***). Drama in IWE has suffered both because of the language and its distance from theatre traditions in India. While all other language theatres evolved out of the various dramatic forms in India, English theatre was an orphan. But there has been a change in the last decade or two. The English language seems to have established itself in the country and seems less and less an alien. Besides, with the increasing number of English-speaking and English-knowing people, at least in urban areas, there is a growing audience for English drama. English writers are also increasingly looking at our own stage traditions and using techniques which are part of these traditions, in the process finally letting down roots in their own soil. Writers like Mahesh Dattani and Poile Sengupta have been writing plays which are meant for performance and are being performed. Nevertheless, drama still has few takers among writers and as a literary genre it

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remains feeble. A new and very interesting phenomenon is that of one of our most respected dramatists, Girish Karnad, who has recently been writing plays in English and Kannada simultaneously, or translating from one to the other and in two instances even writing the English version first. This seems in one way to signify the acceptance of the place of English in India. In fact, Karnad’s play A Heap of Broken Images, written in both the languages, deals exactly with the problem of the increasing importance of English because of globalisation and the consequent decline of the importance of our own languages today. It is almost like the other face of Keats Was A Tuber. Certainly, English drama is far more visible and popular today, specially among the young. However, the paucity of original plays seems to persist. Even more troubling is that it is hard for plays to find publishers, which means that theatre groups are often unable to access texts. Performances, after all, are transient and not to have written texts available is not only a loss to performing groups, it makes it difficult to make a proper assessment of the state of drama as literature in India. English theatre in India, with its growing needs, is increasingly looking for indigenous and original texts. Poile Sengupta’s plays are written for performance and most of them have been performed. Theatre groups will surely welcome this collection which is important for more reasons than one.

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*A History of Indian Literature (vol. VIII) **Said by Marathi writer G. A. Kulkarni to Girish Karnad at the very beginning of his career as a playwright. ***Yatra 3, ed. R.Ananthamurthy

Nirmal

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Varma

and

U.

Mangalam 1993 Mangalam won a special prize for its socially relevant theme in the Hindu-Madras Players playscripts competition, 1993. The issue it deals with remains pertinent today. Even while our rapid economic growth offers financial independence to an increasing number of women, domestic violence and sexual abuse of the girl child persist in Indian society. The challenge of writing drama in English is, for me, that of being true to the spoken word. In Mangalam I attempted to disjoin the conventional structure of the English language, without making it sound outlandish. This is a challenge faced by all writers who depict their culture through language not their own. The excitement for me, as a writer, was to use English in Act I with a Tamil syntax. But Mangalam, unlike Keats Was a Tuber later, is not only about the nuances of language. It is about family politics, seen through the perspective of women. The play deals with serrated relationships behind ostensibly normal households, whether in a small town in southern India of the 1960s, or in a modern cosmopolitan family, perhaps in Chennai. The first speaks in Tamil, the second uses English at home as many upper-class urban Indians do, but this play is not about language. It is about the vulnerability of women across all strata of society,

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and in varied households, and the tenderness and spirit that is so often brutally suppressed. A play within a play as a dramatic device is certainly not new; it was used extensively by Shakespeare and there is a body of literature in this area. It is used as a means to lend perspective to an issue. But in Mangalam I have used the same actors in both ‘plays’ as an indication that nothing really changes; the sameness of it all, to me, is deeply disturbing. Women must come together, then, to find support and strength amongst themselves. There must be realisation that theirs is the power, the hope, the faith, that they alone can ‘hold the ends of the world together’. First performed 14 January 1994 Cast Revathi/Radha

Mallika Prasad

Mani/Suresh

Rahul Mathan

Thangam/Thangam Poile Sengupta Kannan/Vikram

Shyam Bhat

Dorai/Sreeni

Peter Isaac

Usha/Sumati

Kavita Cardoza

Vaithi/Nari

Kumar Iyengar

Kamala/Vaidehi

Kumuda Rao

Coolie (offstage)

S. Ananth 22

Cook (offstage)

Chandramouli

Crew Sets design

Sunita Mirchandaney

Lighting design

Anish Victor

Lights

Anish Victor Joel Miranda

Sound

Anasuya Sengupta

Assisted by

Meghna Abraham Paul Vinay Kumar

Props

Vani Krishnamurthy

Assisted by

Nisha Limaye

Costumes

Veena

Stage manager

Kirti Ananth

Stage crew

Chandra Mouli, S. Ananth, Dinesh Gupta, Yvette Monteiro, Paul Vinay Kumar

Make-up

Nani

FOH

Mahesh Dattani, Aditya Sengupta, Shivaji, Reshma, Anuja Mirchandaney

Direction

Abhijit Sengupta

Assistant Director

Kumuda Rao

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Act 1 Scene 1. The front hall of a house furnished with uncomfortable high backed chairs and ugly tables covered with printed handloom sheets, one with a black phone. There are rush mats on the floor and a glass fronted wall cupboard filled untidily with plastic dolls, clumsy hand made art objects of the montessori variety and silver cups. The front door is downstage left, visitors are to leave their footwear at the door in an unsightly pile. The inner door is upstage right marked by a handloom printed curtain. Next to it is the garlanded photograph of a woman and a lit lamp in front of it. When the play opens, REVATHY, the daughter-in-law of the house, is plaiting her hair, sitting on a chair. Her husband MANI, a bank officer, is looking through a sheaf of papers at one of the tables. REVATHY:

I am telling you there was another silver kooja, there was. I remember it clearly. She took it out for Kannan’s poonool. She must have given it to that sister of yours. As if she hasn’t given her enough already. A steel cupboard last Deepavali, two silk vaishtis for your brother-in-law, a gold chain for his mother …

MANI:

That’s enough. If she wanted to give things to her daughter she had every right to. She used to tell me that she 24

never wanted Usha to be humiliated like she used to be in her husband’s house. REVATHY:

What about my being humiliated in my husband’s house?

MANI:

Oh stop it. You women have nothing better to do than go on and on about the pettiest of things. Who said what to whom and in what tone and why and …

REVATHY:

Yes, that is what you always say when it comes to your wife. But what happens when it is your sister? Then everything changes. (Mimics.) Ayyo! Poor girl! How thin she has become! How sad her life is! How her in-laws ill treat her! … What is so sad about her life, tell me? Her husband is going to Dubai next month to make money. So? He will come back a rich man, and she will buy a big house and show off. All this paavam business of hers is show, I tell you. Just a big show! You ask Chitra.

MANI:

Will you let me finish my work? These papers are in a mess. And anyway, what does Chitra know? She’s just a silly girl. Her head is stuffed with all kinds of nonsense.

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REVATHY:

She’s much more sensible than Usha, let me tell you. Chitra knows what is what. She even knows why your sweet, innocent sister was sent away in her first P.U. to your grandmother’s house. Shall I tell you why?

MANI:

Will you shut up or do you want me to …

Sound of high wailing in the street. REVATHY flings herself out of the chair and onto the mat, head hanging down and sari tight like a shroud. MANI stills. THANGAM, an elderly woman in widow’s colours enters, beating her breast. THANGAM:

Why did she have to go before me? What a big sinner I am! She goes before me, my little sister, my Mangalam. O! O! How can I bear it? … Mani, please give that coolie eight annas.

MANI goes out. MAN:

(Off.) Eight annas! You think I am Gandhi? I want five rupees. She has put granite stones in that suitcase. My arms are broken.

THANGAM:

Stop shouting you rascal. Even eight annas is too much. Don’t you know this is a house of mourning?

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I have lost my sister! O!O! She has gone, she has gone forever! THANGAM sits on the floor, almost fainting. MANI re-enters with bags and a suitcase, shouts for water. REVATHY begins to sob hysterically. THANGAM:

Always the bright one, she was always first in class. If she had studied more, she would have become an officer! And now she has gone, gone! O! O!

KANNAN, a young man in his late teens, enters with a glass of water and offers it to THANGAM who takes it but does not drink any of it. KANNAN exits. THANGAM:

Who can eat and drink at this time? Ever since I heard the news, I have not slept. I have not even gone to the bathroom!

REVATHY looks up alarmed. THANGAM:

(Noticing MANI.) O! O! O! My poor motherless boy! My orphaned boy! What will you do? What will you all do? She was such a good mother! Such an excellent cook! O!O!O!

DORAI the widower, father of SRIRAM, MANI, USHA, CHITRA and KANNAN, enters bristling. 27

REVATHY jumps up and stands near the inner door, head bowed but watchful. MANI stands by the table. DORAI:

What is all this noise about? This is a house of mourning, not a butcher’s shop.

THANGAM:

Ayyo! Ayyo! My poor sister! Thank God she did not live to hear this. To be talking of butchers today. But what else can I expect from my brother-in-law? He has been like this since the day he tied the thali around that poor girl’s neck! Thali! It was more like a rope.

DORAI:

Thangam, I’m warning you straightaway. If you want to stay here, you have to control that tongue of yours. This is my house.

THANGAM:

As if I don’t know that, brother-in-law. As if I don’t remember what happened the last time I was here. I should have taken my poor sister away from you even then. If I had done that, she would still be alive today, the poor girl.

DORAI:

Mani, ask your aunt what she means by that remark. Is she implying that I did not look after her sister? That I

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killed her? Tell me Thangam, are you saying that I murdered your sister? THANGAM:

Brother-in-law, do not bring the children into this. (Gets up slowly.) What I know, I know. (Begins to move towards the inner door.) Mani, please take me inside. I want to wash my hands and feet. The train was as dirty as usual. No water in the bathroom, people eating all the time, throwing leftovers all over the place. I felt sick.

DORAI:

Nobody asked you to come.

THANGAM:

(Facing him square.) Yes, I know. You should have sent me a wire. But you! You did not even send me a postcard. Do you know how I found out? From that good-for-nothing cousin of yours, that gossip Meenu. She came all the way, took two buses to come and tell me who all were here for the funeral, what was made for the feast and how everybody found it so strange that I had not come. Then Mani told them that I had heart trouble and could not travel. Is that true, Mani?

MANI:

Yes.

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THANGAM:

You are your father’s boy. Can’t even tell good lies.

REVATHY:

(Suddenly.) Appa told him to say it. He wanted to send you a telegram but Appa said there was no need. Appa said he would manage the family.

THANGAM:

(Ignoring her.) Heart trouble! Tell me brother-in-law, what else did you say? That I was mad? That I was possessed? What else?

DORAI:

Your sister did not want you here.

THANGAM:

What? Did she tell you that?

Silence. THANGAM:

Did she?

DORAI:

You know your sister. She never said anything directly. But once or twice, she hinted at it.

THANGAM:

You made her do that. She was afraid of you. My poor sister. She was afraid of you. Don’t I know it? You are a raakshasan. A Kali-yuga raakshasan.

MANI:

Periamma! Please don’t start this now. A lot of Appa’s friends will be coming. What will they think?

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THANGAM:

What did the family think when I was not here? What did Meenu think when she came to my house? I was pounding rice in the verandah. With heart trouble?

THANGAM exits to the inner room, followed by MANI with the suitcase and bags. REVATHY casts a look at her father-in-law and then exits. The phone rings. DORAI picks it up. DORAI:

Hello! Hello! Who? What? Yes, yes, Subramanian here. Yes, holding. (Covers mouthpiece.) Mani! Revathy! From Ohio! Sriram! Hello! Hello! Sriram! Yes! Yes, everything went off very well. Mani and I have just returned from … What? I can’t hear you! What do you want to know? Hello! Hello! You got a what? A letter? What are you saying? Hello! Hello! … It’s got cut off.

During the conversation, MANI and REVATHY have come into the room. There is palpable tension in the air. DORAI pretends nothing is wrong but it is clear that he is very disturbed. DORAI:

That was Sriram. He … I could not hear him …. The line as usual was very bad …. He probably wanted to know whether all the ceremonies went off alright. I told him … you heard what I said … poor boy

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… all by himself over there … with this bad news. MANI:

What was the letter he mentioned?

DORAI:

Letter? What letter?

MANI:

I thought he said he had got a letter.

DORAI:

No! No! It must have been something else. Anyway it is quite unimportant … Where is that woman, that Periamma of yours? The sooner we pack her off the better.

MANI:

She says she is going to stay here for a month, at least. (As DORAI’S agitation grows, MANI perceptibly begins to gain control.) She says she will go only after fixing Chitra’s marriage.

DORAI:

(Exploding.) I will not allow a shaven head to fix my child’s marriage. That woman will leave my house immediately. Tell her that. I will throw her things out … I will … (Phone rings. DORAI grabs at it. Shouts.) Hello! Hello! Oh hello, sir. Sorry, I could not hear you sir … I thought … yes sir, my second son and myself came back yesterday sir. We have this ceremony of the immersion of the ashes … you know about it, sir? … What sir? I’m on leave till the ninth sir … I will try sir … you know how it is in a house of sorrow sir … my poor motherless 32

children … they are all well settled sir, with your blessings sir, my eldest son is in States sir, I just got a call from him … eighth sir? I will try …. yes sir, yes sir. (Sits down with a slump.) That was my boss. He wants me to rejoin …. Where is that woman … THANGAM …. THANGAM … MANI:

There is no need to shout. I’ll call her. But I don’t think you should send her out of this house.

DORAI:

What!

MANI:

I think Periamma should stay here for some time.

DORAI:

Mani, do you know what you are saying? This is my house.

MANI:

This is my mother’s house. It was part of her dowry. I have more of a right in this house than you have.

DORAI:

How dare you … you rascal! How dare you … I will … (Controls himself with some effort.)

THANGAM enters. She has had a wash, there is a fresh mark of vibhuti and chandanam on her forehead. THANGAM:

Did I hear somebody call me? Sometimes I think I’m going deaf.

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Mani, I don’t like this at all. Where has Chitra gone? It is time to light the lamp and she is still not back. What is wrong with the children of today? The boy is in the room studying his school book and this girl is nowhere to be seen. Doesn’t she remember that her mother … MANI:

(Quickly.) She has gone to get some notes from her friend, Periamma. She will be back soon.

THANGAM:

Oh, so that is the latest excuse, is it?

MANI:

It’s not that, Periamma. She has an exam next week. If she doesn’t take the exam, she will lose a year. Amma wanted her to …

DORAI:

(Stiffly.) My wife wanted Chitra to go for higher studies. I will see that my daughter becomes an IAS.

THANGAM:

And what happened when my sister wanted to study? And when Usha got that scholarship? Did you allow them to study? Now, because I want to get this girl married, you want to do the opposite. You think I don’t know you after all these years? I did not even want you in the family.

DORAI:

(Exploding.) Don’t I know that? You have never allowed me to forget it. 34

And why did you object to me? Because I was poor. Because my father was only a priest in a small temple. Because I was only a clerk and your father helped me to get that job. So you did not want me. And what happened to you? You were married to an engineer in a big firm. What did he leave you? He drank everything. He could not even give you a child, that eunuch, that … MANI:

Appa! Somebody is coming.

There are steps heard and a middle-aged couple, VAITHI and KAMALA, enter. VAITHI:

I am sorry, I could not come earlier. We were in Madras, as you know, for my brother’s … Anyway, we came back just yesterday. Just yesterday.

KAMALA:

We were both so shocked. We could not believe it.

DORAI:

Please sit down. Vaithi, come this way. Sit on the chair, come to this chair.

VAITHI:

No, that’s quite alright. I am quite comfortable here, quite comfortable.

DORAI:

How can you be comfortable there? With your rheumatism and all that. Please come and sit here. Take this 35

chair … please … How did the wedding go? VAITHI:

Very fine, very fine. The boy is from an excellent family, has a good job in the States. By the by, he knows your son, your eldest son, Sriram.

VAITHI andNo, no. Please! We have just had … KAMALA (together): THANGAM:

(Moaning hysterically.) O, my poor sister! My poor sister! She was too young to die! Far too young! Why did he take her and not me? O! O! O!

An uncomfortable pause. KAMALA:

(Breaking into speech.) You are Mangalakka’s sister? I did not realise. When did you come? Did you see her before …?

MANI:

(Quickly.) Periamma has heart trouble. So we informed her through a relative. But we could do that only after everything was over. Actually it happened so quickly. Even the doctor was surprised.

VAITHI:

What happened actually? Nobody could give us any details, any details.

36

KAMALA:

Akka was so healthy. She never even complained of a head ache. I came to see her, you know, before we left for Madras and she was perfectly alright. (Trying to prise out information.) When did it happen? What actually happened? People are saying so many things. You know how nosy people are. They always make big things out of something small. So I told him, even if it is Thursday, we must go. Anna won’t mind. He is not so old-fashioned.

REVATHY enters with glasses of coffee on a steel plate. The coffee is obviously only an excuse to join the group but she does it in style with her head down, eyes heavy. As she offers the coffee around, starting with the men, there is the usual declining and accepting, the expression of condolences and the cultivation of an air of gloom even while enjoying the coffee. All this is done silently as a voice is heard. VOICE-OVER (FEMALE):

Women die many kinds of deaths; men do not know this. For them, when a woman cooks and arranges flowers in her hair and makes place in the bed she is alive.

37

But a woman can smile, she can pin flowers in her hair and arrange a red dot on her forehead and make place in the bed because her husband is alive. She may be dead. REVATHY has sat down close to KAMALA, who comforts her. DORAI sits uneasy on his chair. MANI is back at his papers. REVATHY:

She was so good to me. She never said anything harsh. She taught me so much, she was like my mother. Right till the end, she was like my mother.

THANGAM:

(Muttering.) Well, she could not be like a father, could she?

KAMALA:

Poor girl, poor girl. Don’t cry, you must be brave. You must give strength to poor Mani. … Tell me, what happened? Was it a stroke? But she never said she had high BP.

As REVATHY turns to look surreptitiously at DORAI, the phone rings. Both MANI and DORAI

38

jump up to get it. MANI is faster. During the phone conversation, KAMALA and REVATHY whisper to each other. MANI:

Hello! Hello! Yes? Yes. This is Mani. Sriram? (DORAI tries to snatch the phone.) One minute, Appa. Yes Sriram? Yes … yes … yes, I guessed. Long ago … What? Well, what can you do now? … I have no idea. … Didn’t she say anything in the letter? … I don’t think there’s any use raking it up now …. Forget it. Just forget it. Of course you can. You forgot all of us when you left, didn’t you? (DORAI snatches the phone. MANI exits.)

DORAI:

Hello! Hello! Sriram! Hello! … It’s got disconnected. (He slumps back, looking dazed.)

THANGAM:

What has happened to that boy now? Wasting everything he is earning on talking. And what is wrong with Mani? Why has he gone out with that big face? There is always drama in this house. All the time.It is like an MGR film …. And that wretched girl, where has she gone? (Gets up slowly.) Mani! Mani! Kannan! Kannana? Can’t even answer. Mani! (Exits, still calling.)

39

VAITHI:

We better go, better go. Kamala!

KAMALA:

(To REVATHY.) Just a viral? How can this happen with just a viral? (Realises others are listening.) Poor girl! Poor girl! But don’t cry. Now you have to take charge. You have to look after your father-in-law, and Mani and the children. It’s a big responsibility. I did it, you know. My mother-in-law died two years after our marriage. And I had three sisters-in-law, all younger, just imagine! And I …

VAITHI:

Kamala!

KAMALA:

Coming! One minute! … And all three to be married off. (Whispers.) And not one was good-looking. You should see the middle one. Abba! (Normal voice.) Here, there is only Chitra. Have you started looking? Anna, you should start looking for a groom for our Chitra. I saw a nice boy in Madras this time. He …

VAITHI:

Kamala, is this the time to start talking about things like that? The whole house is plunged in sorrow, plunged in sorrow. Look at Dorai. He’s looking miserable. Dorai! Are you alright, saar?

40

DORAI:

Oh, I’m sorry. I got this phone, you know, from my son in the States. Oh yes, you were here then. It got cut off. These telephone lines are so bad. Rotten, I tell you. … (Stands up.) So you are going.

VAITHI:

Yes. If you want anything, just ask. Just ask. You know we are always here. Both of us.

DORAI:

Yes, I know, thank you. … Everything is so confusing. I don’t understand what I should do.

REVATHY darts a glance at her father-in-law. VAITHI and KAMALA stand closer to each other. VAITHI:

If there’s anything I can do … anything …

KAMALA:

Anna, please don’t hesitate. You know we are like your own family. Morning or night, please don’t hesitate to ask. After all, Mangalakka has helped me so much … I still don’t understand how she could go so suddenly. She was quite alright when I saw her before going to Madras. That was just ten–fifteen days ago. This viral business … I did not know it could lead to …

41

Sudden outbreak of noise from inside the house. THANGAM’S voice is raised high in quarrel. Another voice, a man’s, contradicts her. He is obviously the cook. THANGAM:

(Off.): From now on, I will give the orders in this house … you understand?

COOK:

(Off.) Who are you? … I don’t know you … You say you are Amma’s sister … I have never seen you … She was not like you …

THANGAM:

(Off.) If I say vattakurambu, you have to make vattakurambu … What a waste of food … look at this …

COOK:

(Off.) Amma never even looked into the kitchen … She left everything to me …

THANGAM:

(Off.) What nonsense! My poor sister was an excellent cook. This is your work in the last ten days and that good-for-nothing daughter-in-law …

As the quarrel goes on, DORAI signals to REVATHY to go in. When there is no abatement in the pitch and intensity of the fight, he disappears through the inner door, leaving VAITHI and KAMALA on their own. From now on, the quarrel continues but is muted. It begins to trail off and then stops just before DORAI’S re-entry.

42

KAMALA:

It is all very strange, let me tell you. Why are they not telling us what happened? You remember what Muthu said? He said that they called a doctor only early in the morning, around three or so. And by the time he came, it was all over. She had fever for three days, high fever.

VAITHI:

Kamala, how can you believe what Muthu says? He is just an illiterate man, an illiterate man.

KAMALA:

Do you have to know how to read and write before you recognise a doctor? And anyway, two days before she went, she called him and she asked him to post a letter. He says it was a blue letter, a long, thin one.

VAITHI:

An aerogramme.

KAMALA:

And you remember that phone that came? Did you see Anna’s face? And another thing. Usha the older girl, went off on the third day itself. And the son-in-law did not come at all.

VAITHI:

He may not have got leave.

KAMALA:

What are you saying? He has his own business, that big transport business. During the marriage you were asking him so many questions. Have you forgotten? 43

VAITHI:

Kamala, it is not easy for a man to leave his work and go off. To just go off.

KAMALA:

I may be believing in old-fashioned things, but I am telling you, even if you don’t attend a marriage, you must attend a death. Especially when it is your own mother-in-law. It is in times of sadness that we should be with people. But I felt on the day of the marriage itself that the family was very proud. Do you remember how the in-laws behaved? The samandhi ammal sat outside and criticised everything, even the flowers. She said the scent was artificial.

VAITHI:

She said something about the girl, also, didn’t she? About the girl?

KAMALA:

Oh, you remember that? Yes. She said that they had been cheated. They thought when they came to see Usha, that she had long hair but it was false hair plaited very tightly with real hair so she did not realise. Even when she pulled it.

VAITHI:

That old woman pulled Usha’s hair?

KAMALA:

Your mother pulled my hair.

VAITHI:

But that was in those times, those times. 44

KAMALA:

So? The pain is the same. … Anyway, now they are making life miserable for Usha. In spite of the sacks and sacks of things that go to that house from here. I don’t know why they got the girl married so quickly. She was only in P.U. They could have waited.

VAITHI:

But there was somebody in her college, some English lecturer or something. He used to keep coming and going from this house.

DORAI enters. KAMALA:

(Quickly.) College education is no good these days. It is better to get Chitra married soon. I will write to …

DORAI:

Kindly don’t write to anybody. Let my sister-in-law do what she wants. Otherwise I will be the next one to die.

KAMALA:

Anna! Don’t say such things. It is not auspicious.

THANGAM:

(Enters speaking.) Auspicious! What is auspicious in this house? My sister used to cry every day. Even on Friday, Friday evenings. I used to say, don’t cry, don’t cry on Friday evenings, you will become a widow,

45

don’t let that happen. It is the worst fate for a woman. DORAI:

She did not become a widow. So are you happy now?

THANGAM:

She stopped evenings.

crying

on

Friday

Silence. DORAI:

I have some work in the bank. Tell Mani I have gone. (Exits.)

VAITHI:

We have to go also. If there is anything … anything …

KAMALA pulls him out. THANGAM goes to the photograph and begins to clean up, removing dead flowers and the dust around the incense sticks. VOICE-OVER:

The great silences of tragedy I can bear, The heavy weight of grief, But fate pinches stubborn child,

me

like

a

Hurts me like a small time thief. I can suckle the loss of an only son, Mourn over a collapsed house,

46

But how can I cry for milk that’s spilt, Or the fading of an old, cotton blouse? In a woman’s mind, small is significant, Her life is made up of threads, When a man knows this, her fragile secret, He holds the power to tear it to shreds. Lights dim. THANGAM is still upstage. DORAI bursts in holding a letter, face ashen. DORAI:

Mani! Mani! Where are you? Mani!

MANI rushes in, followed by REVATHY and KANNAN. MANI:

Appa, what has happened?

DORAI:

Chitra has gone! She has run off with that lout! She left a letter for me at the bank.

Blackout. End of Scene 1. Scene 2. Same front hall with the addition of a camp bed stage right. Phone has been placed near 47

the bed. As scene opens, DORAI is lying on the bed with eyes closed. THANGAM can be heard off chanting Sanskrit shlokas at top speed with very little devotion. REVATHY enters with a glass of milk. She remains standing all through. REVATHY:

Appa! Appa. Your milk.

DORAI:

I want coffee.

REVATHY:

The doctor has said you can have only one glass of coffee in the morning.

DORAI:

Alright, alright. (Sits up and takes the glass.) Any letter?

REVATHY:

The postman has not yet come.

DORAI:

I told Mani to phone everyday. But as usual, as soon as he leaves, he forgets all my instructions.

REVATHY:

He left only yesterday and he phoned as soon as he reached Chitappa’s house. Why should he phone now? He must be busy, doing all your work. You also asked him to search for something in Grandfather’s old trunk. He will do all that and phone in the evening.

DORAI:

If he has the sense! … My children are all fools. My sons are fools and my daughters are prostitutes. Here! Take this stuff and pour it down the 48

gutter. I can’t have any more. And tell that woman to stop her funeral dirge. My head is paining. REVATHY:

It is time for your medicine.

DORAI:

Medicine! Medicine! I don’t want any medicine. Why should I live any more? The whole town is laughing at me. She has thrown mud over my head, that wretched girl. How can I face people now? (Takes tablets and swallows them with water.) So many, many wishes I had for her. She will study, she will become an officer, she will come to this town as Collector …. All gone! Everything wiped out. … Is that the postman?

REVATHY:

No.

DORAI:

That old woman! That shaven head! … You! Stop that blabber! God will run a hundred miles from you. … She can’t even hear me. (Pause.) Within one month. One single month. In the office they used to say, Subramanian is so lucky. One daughter married into a rich family. One son in the States, the other married and with a good job. By the time he retires, the youngest two will also be settled. … Look what has happened now. Like a curse.

49

What sin have I done? Why should God punish me like this? REVATHY:

Do you want more water?

DORAI:

No …. Have you written to your parents?

REVATHY:

Yes.

Pause. DORAI:

What did you tell them?

REVATHY:

The truth, what else? Why should I tell more lies for this family?

DORAI:

What do you mean, more lies?

REVATHY:

As if you don’t know. You …

KANNAN enters, extremely agitated. He carries a load of books, they seem to be habitual possessions. He is an earnest young man who fares well in competitive examinations but is otherwise not very bright. KANNAN:

Appa, there is a big problem. I have to pay the fees for those special classes by tomorrow ten o’clock latest. Otherwise they will strike my name off. … (Pause.) Appa.

DORAI:

How much?

KANNAN:

Three hundred.

50

DORAI:

You will have to wait for your brother to come back from Madras. There is no money in the house and I can’t go to the bank.

KANNAN:

But Appa, Mani Anna will take another three or four days minimum, and I have to give the fees …

DORAI:

(Sits up enraged.) Get out! Get out from here! How dare you come at this time with your stupid problems. Fees! Special classes! Your mother is dead, your whore of a sister has eloped and you come here for fees. Fees! Get out before I …

THANGAM enters. THANGAM:

Kannan, come here. I will give you the money. Don’t talk to your father. He is a madman. Come. Come inside.

DORAI:

I am not mad. It is you have made me mad. You and your sister. (Pause.) She was always the superior one. So superior. Nothing she did could ever be wrong. But she had to marry me, isn’t it? She had to marry a poor priest’s son because nobody else would have touched her, not one decent man would have touched her. 51

THANGAM:

Come Kanna, come inside.

DORAI:

Stop! Let him hear it too. He is old enough, isn’t he? (To KANNAN.) Do you know, you fool, from where your sister learnt her whoring? From her mother. From your mother. You thought your mother was a devi, isn’t it? And your father a raakshasan? Well, let me tell you something …

THANGAM:

That will do. Let the boy go and pay his fees. What is the use now of talking of dead and gone things?

Exits with KANNAN. DORAI:

Dead and gone things? How can it be dead and gone? I have lived with it for thirty one years. Every moment I have spent in this house, in her house, I have had to live with it. That they bought me, her family bought me to keep their good name. Her father bought me. To keep his self-respect, for his daughter’s self-respect. … (Softly, bitterly.) And then, the other thing, the thing that haunts me, that robs my sleep …

KANNAN:

(Off.) Manni! Manni! The rice is getting burnt.

REVATHY hesitates for a moment and then exits.

52

Lights dim. VOICE-OVER:

From a house of mourning nobody takes leave. They go as they entered with no greeting. It is as if they say this is a strange time, an unmarked place for which we have no words no strategies. We shall not hypocrisies here.

spend

our

Knocking at the door. KAMALA:

(Off.) Anna! Anna! It is us. There is a letter for you.

DORAI does not move. VAITHI:

(Off.) Dorai! Dorai!

DORAI moves slowly to the door. Opens it. KAMALA darts in, with VAITHI behind her.

53

VAITHI:

I did not want to disturb you but the postman gave us the letter … the letter …

KAMALA:

He pushed it under our door, just imagine! After all these years, he can’t make out the difference between door no. 38 and door no. 68.

VAITHI:

Actually, we told him … we told him …

KAMALA:

Better open important.

the

letter.

It

looks

DORAI turns the letter over and puts it on the table without speaking. KAMALA:

(Eagerly.) Shall I call Revathy?… Revathy! Amma, Revathy!

REVATHY enters immediately as if she was at the door listening. KAMALA:

Revathy, come and read this letter for Anna. He is feeling very tired.

VAITHI:

Yes. He is looking very tired, very tired. I think we will come another day. Kamala …

KAMALA does not move. She watches as REVATHY neatly cuts the inland form and opens it out. There are only a few lines of writing on it.

54

DORAI:

What does she say?

REVATHY:

She is married. Registered. She wore Amma’s sari.

Silence. KAMALA:

Congratulations Anna! Your family has another son now.

VAITHI:

Kamala!

KAMALA:

Why? What is wrong? The girl has got married. May not be in a sabhai, so what? So many people are going in for registered marriage now. It is easier to get a passport also. Anna! Don’t feel bad. Yes, people will talk. But for how many days? You write to Chitra and ask her to come home. Throw a reception for them. A small reception. Hundred people or so. Everyone will understand. If you like I will speak to Muthu, he arranged everything for …

DORAI:

That girl will not cross this threshold. She is dead to me.

KAMALA:

Don’t say things like that Anna! After all, If Mangalakka had been alive …

THANGAM enters uncannily at the right time as usual. With her is KANNAN who casts a scared

55

look at DORAI and then sidles out through the front door. THANGAM:

So the letter has come, has it? She is married. At least she had the sense to do that. Brother-in-law, you better arrange a small reception. Some fifty people. We can hold it in the house itself …

DORAI:

What are you saying? Are you mad? He is a non-Brahmin.

THANGAM:

Brahmin or non-Brahmin, he is now your son-in-law.

DORAI:

(Shouting.) I will not accept him. The girl is dead. Dead, do you hear?

VAITHI:

Don’t shout, Dorai. It is not good for you, not good for you.

Phone rings. DORAI does not move. Finally REVATHY picks it up. REVATHY:

Ah, hello! Yes, it’s me. No, we are all here, we were just talking. … Who? Appa? I’ll call him … Appa… it is him from Madras. (DORAI does not move.) Hello! Appa is not feeling well. Yes, he is lying down … no, he’s alright … just … You met Chitra? Did she come with her husband? …. Yes. We got a letter

56

from her. Just three lines, but still …. Arrange a reception? I don’t know … you will have to do it, I think … yes? Hello? Hello! First bus tomorrow? Alright. Alright …. What? Fees? … No, Periamma gave the money … Yes, he has taken the morning medicine … alright … (Puts phone down.) He is coming tomorrow. DORAI:

Reception! He also wants it. All of you want it. Can’t any of you think of my position? No. You are all like her. Like your mother. She has even given her wedding sari to her wretched daughter. She planned it, can’t you see?

KAMALA:

(Obviously relishing the idea.) Anna, it would not have been like that. She must have given the sari simply, just to …

DORAI:

She planned it. To humiliate me. For thirty-one years she has been planning it. One by one she will take the children away from me, one by one …

KAMALA:

Anna! How can you say that? You have such fine children. Sriram, Usha …

57

DORAI:

Sriram!

THANGAM:

Talk! Talk! Talk! All the time talking! And the rice gets burnt. You think talk will fill our stomachs?

DORAI:

When was Usha ever my daughter? She was always like her mother. The two of them sitting there, talking on and on, never telling me anything. Only giving me accusing looks, always that look. And when I fixed that alliance for Usha! My God! They made me feel as if I had committed a crime!

THANGAM:

It was a crime.

DORAI:

What! A crime! A crime to have one of the richest business families as in-laws? Do you know what their annual turnover is, you illiterate woman? Do you know what my son-in-law earns? … What do you know? What do you care? Just because I fixed it, the mother and daughter cried for three weeks.

VAITHI:

(Clearing his throat.) Kamala! Dorai must take rest, must take rest.

DORAI:

They wanted a stupid college lecturer. Somebody with two and a half dhotis, and a stack of useless books. What would he have given 58

her? Now she comes and goes in a car, and has six servants and … THANGAM:

And her mother-in-law sleeps in the same room.

KAMALA:

Ayyo Rama! In the same room!

THANGAM:

No other room in the house gets sea breeze. And samandhi ammal, who was born and who lived for twenty years in a pit of a house in the heart of Coimbatore …. She can’t sleep without the sea breeze. Sea breeze! And her loving son must press her head and press her arms and press everything else.

REVATHY stifles a giggle. VAITHI begins to get agitated. KAMALA:

But it is such a good family. I have heard my brother-in-law saying that …

VAITHI:

Come Kamala, we must go. It has got late, very late.

THANGAM:

And my poor girl gets nothing to eat. Such a big house, such a big kitchen, and the girl is given kanji water. And that too after the servants have eaten and gone to sleep.

59

DORAI:

All that is nonsense. It is all made up by your sister and her daughter. To get sympathy. To make me feel bad.

THANGAM:

Have you even gone to their house? Have you visited your daughter even once? No. Why? Because they don’t like it. They won’t allow you anywhere nearby. Your samandhi ammal is quite capable of giving you a broom and asking you to sweep the hall. … Anyway, what is the use of talking? What is done, is done. The girl’s fate, that is all I can say …. Brother-in-law, are you going to take your bath now or will you wait till Kannan comes back?

DORAI:

I don’t want anyone’s help. (Gets up and moves towards the inner door and exits weighed down with self pity. Off.) The day I ask for my children’s help, I will die.

KAMALA:

Please be careful, Anna! Please be careful. Amma, Revathy! Go and help him.

REVATHY does not move. DORAI:

(Off.) For God’s sake, where is the oil? And will somebody give me a clean towel?

60

REVATHY goes in reluctantly. VAITHI:

Akka, we really disturbed you today. We were really worried about Dorai. You may not know, but he has helped us so much, so much. I can never repay what he has done for me. I had three sisters to be married and he fixed up all of them, all three of them. They are all well settled now with God’s grace. With the grace of God.

KAMALA:

Tell her about the abortion.

VAITHI:

Yes. Yes. Kamala was carrying her third, it was the seventh month. And I had gone on tour. One day, she slipped in the bathroom and the bleeding started …

KAMALA:

And Dorai Anna and Mangalakka took me to the hospital and stayed with me. She even gave me a bath.

VAITHI:

But she lost the child.

KAMALA:

It was a male. After that, we tried and tried but I could not conceive again.

VAITHI:

We have two girls. One is in first PU. The second is in the tenth class.

KAMALA:

She’s very good in singing. She got a prize in the Thiruppaavai competition just this December. Her voice is like MLV, that is what everybody says. 61

During the conversation, THANGAM has been steadily manoeuvering the couple towards the front door. VAITHI:

It is so good that you have come. It will help Dorai. And of course, the children.

KAMALA:

Usha will also be coming now I suppose?

Silence. VAITHI:

Anyway, if there is anything we can do, anything …

They leave. THANGAM closes the door firmly, latches it and then begins a curious inspection of the room. She looks closely into drawers, at the shelves of the glass cupboards, feels the surface of the tablecloths, finally reaches the bed, lifts the pillow, turns over the strips of tablets on the table nearby. Her search is concentrated but without focus, as if she doesn’t know what she is looking for but is taking precautions all the same. As she moves around the room, REVATHY’S head is seen at the inner door, watching her. VOICE-OVER:

No place is as secretive as the womb, As secretive, as safe, As quiet.

62

That is what I thought But I was wrong. For no place is as loud as the womb, As obtrusive, as flimsy, As talkative. Or is it that the womb, Like a woman, Is betrayed? Blackout. End of Scene 2. Scene 3. The same as Scene 2 but it is now evening. DORAI is sitting up on the bed, head down, staring at the floor. On stage left, THANGAM is absorbed in a religious tome, muttering to herself now and then. She has put on thick, black-rimmed, government healthcare glasses, which hang loosely on her nose. DORAI has wrapped his head in a woollen muffler that makes him look at once bad-tempered and infirm. As the scene opens, there is a sudden gust of wind and the front door swings open. REVATHY comes in with an oil lamp that has blown itself out. REVATHY:

There’s going to be a storm. I could not keep the lamp burning outside. 63

(She crosses and goes into the house.) DORAI:

Why couldn’t she close the door? That door will start banging now.

THANGAM pays no attention. DORAI:

Revathy! Revathy! … She must be sitting in front of the mirror, beautifying herself. What does she care even if the house gets flooded. … Money! That’s all she cares about. … Money! Jewellery! Clothes! … Once they used to call my son Money Mani! That was before this raakshasi began to rule his life. Now he is no money Mani … Revathy! … When I first saw her, I thought she was a nice girl, quiet, sober. Her mother said she was homely, she did not even want to finish her BA. Then I found that she was SSLC failed. The whole family tells lies. They have got MA degrees in lie telling. … They said she was an excellent cook. She can’t even make coffee properly … (The door swings again.) May as well close that door myself. (Crosses. Looks out.) It’s a big storm. (Closes the door firmly. Latches it. Walks back.) Hope the windows are all shut … Kannan! Kannan!

REVATHY appears suddenly.

64

REVATHY:

He is not here.

DORAI:

What? Where has he gone, the fool?

Pause. REVATHY:

Periamma sent him for something.

THANGAM:

I needed some arrowroot powder. That Khader’s shop has it.

DORAI:

Do you know what is happening outside? It is like a Mahabharata war. The boy can get killed.

THANGAM:

A bit of rain does not kill anyone. It is the yuddha inside the house that kills.

Silence. DORAI:

When did he go?

REVATHY:

I don’t know. I did not see him go.

THANGAM:

She knows. She wanted him to get something also. Some powder or snow, some rubbish like that. She treats him as if he is a puppy dog.

REVATHY:

(Suddenly screaming.) And what about you? How do you treat me? As if I don’t exist. As if I am poison. An untouchable. You sent away the cook because you wanted to rule over me in the kitchen. 65

THANGAM:

The cook was a thief.

REVATHY:

And what work do I do? You won’t even let me cut the vegetables. Even that I can’t do properly, is it? How does it matter if the beans are cut one inch, or half an inch. It is all being eaten, isn’t it? Is anybody measuring it?

THANGAM:

There is a beauty in everything, in cooking also.

REVATHY:

Dosai! I make them too thick, too fat. Do you know your sister never ate the dosai I made? I made them like car tyres, it seems. ‘Ayyayyo! Usha’s dosai is like paper! In our house, all the girls make dosai as fine as silk. Where have you come from? What has your mother taught you?’

DORAI:

Is this the time to talk of beans and dosai?

REVATHY:

Porridge! Ordinary wheat porridge! ‘Tell Usha to make it. When you make the porridge, it is full of lumps as big as elephants’ heads. Look at Usha’s porridge, it is like butter.’

THANGAM:

All good things take time. Do curds set in five minutes?

66

REVATHY:

One day, when Kannan had his exam, I made paal payasam, just a little bit. Because I know he likes payasam. Do you know what happened? It was thrown away. It was poured down the drain before he even saw it. Why? Because, my mother-in-law says, the milk and the rice have not mixed properly. It looks very bad. But did she see the taste? No, of course not, that she won’t do.

THANGAM:

When paal payasam is made, the rice and the milk should not go searching for each other saying, ‘Where are you? Where am I?’

DORAI:

First porridge! Now payasam!

REVATHY:

(To DORAI.) Do you know the way they talk in the kitchen? You should hear them. Such vulgar language! ‘If you don’t stir the milk when it boils, your child will be born deformed. If you fill water in a glass till it spills over, your husband will sleep with another woman.’

THANGAM:

Fear makes people remember. A woman who is afraid will never go wrong.

REVATHY:

(Back to THANGAM.) So you want me to be afraid, is it? You want me to

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sit in the kitchen with my head hanging down. You don’t want me to dress well, or talk to anybody, or smile at anyone. Just sit in one corner and be afraid. THANGAM:

A woman who opens her mouth and smiles at men will also open her legs.

REVATHY:

Say it now, say the word. Because I am pretty, and men look at me, and I dress well, I am a … say the word. Why don’t you say the word?

DORAI:

Will you keep quiet! We have enough troubles without these silly women’s fights.

REVATHY:

You hate me. You hate me because you are jealous. You and your sister and your nieces are all jealous. Jealous of my beauty, jealous because my husband does not look at any other woman, because he presses my head when it pains, because he takes me to the cinema, he buys me flowers. … What did your husband do? He did not come near you even on your wedding night. You don’t even know what it is to have a man’s arms around you. You are just a barren woman. A barren, jealous woman.

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DORAI:

Revathy!

REVATHY:

And your sister. What do you think her life was? With a husband who hated her. I have seen her crying, every day she cried. She smiled only when he went out of the house. Once he was gone for three days, and she laughed like a young girl, she sang songs. But when he was here, he made her suffer. He gave her children year after year so that he could see her suffer. Every night, he made her suffer. Even when the doctor said no. … Do you know how she died?

DORAI:

Revathy! Stop it now! Stop it!

Furious knocking at the door. Nobody moves. Knocking again. THANGAM gets up slowly and goes to the door. KANNAN enters, wet, sneezing. KANNAN:

It is pouring with rain outside. Periamma (He gives her a pulp of paper.) here is your arrowroot. It has got totally wet. Manni, here is the talcum and the cold cream. I kept the packet inside my shirt so it did not get that wet. The powder is just what you wanted. See. Sandal. (She does not take the packet. He looks at her uncertainly.)

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THANGAM:

Leave it on the table and come and change your clothes. You will get fever otherwise. Come inside quickly. I will get you a towel.

KANNAN:

Manni!

THANGAM:

Come inside Kanna. Look at you. Dripping wet. (She waits for him at the inner door. He is about to speak, thinks better of it and disappears.)

REVATHY:

(Quietly now.) She hated you too. She prayed every single day that she should die a sumangali. That she should die with a thali around her neck. When you got your first heart attack, she was so worried. So very worried. She went to the temple twice a day. She offered archana in your name. And everybody said — what a holy woman, what a good wife. But there was nothing good or holy about it, oh no! Not at all! She wanted to die before you, so that you would suffer. Suffer as much as she did.

DORAI:

(To himself.) Revenge! That’s what she always wanted. Revenge!

REVATHY:

So she decided not to take any chances, isn’t it? How many of your sleeping pills did she swallow?

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Silence. REVATHY:

How clever she was. She got fever, ordinary viral fever. Every house had somebody or the other down with it those days. But she made it worse for herself. She took no tablets to control the fever, she just let it go higher and higher. And that night, she must have swallowed the pills, when you were phoning the doctor.

DORAI:

(To himself.) She had arranged everything, planned everything.

REVATHY:

She was so clever! Too clever for you! She even fooled the doctor! Poor man, he was totally unsuspicious. Even with that high fever, her brain worked like a man’s.

THANGAM:

(Has been listening.) She was always clever, my sister. She would have been an officer. She would have been such a fine officer. It was this man who ruined her.

DORAI:

(Exploding.) What do you mean, this man? I ruined her, is it? I ruined her? Is that what you think? Alright. … Since your parents did not tell you then … let me tell you now after thirty-one years … your sister was

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pregnant when I married her. Pregnant! With another man’s child. KANNAN enters with a bedroll. KANNAN:

I have finished eating, Periamma. Shall I put my mat here? Next to the cot?

THANGAM:

(Quicker than the others as usual.) You leave your mat here for the time being. You have to study a little more, isn’t it?

KANNAN:

I am feeling sleepy.

THANGAM:

Splash some water on your face. At your age, we did not feel sleepy at this time. This is the time to study and say your prayers. Not to sleep, like a sick man. Go.

KANNAN exits yawning. DORAI:

For three months I did not know, for three months. … She used to hide everything from me, the vomiting, everything. Then it began to show … even then, I never suspected … till the doctor came. If my mother had been alive, she would have known why the rich Ramachandra Iyer was tying his daughter to me. But my father … 72

poor man … was completely fooled. He cried with happiness … he said Lakshmi had blessed him at last … he treated this whore as if she were a goddess. THANGAM:

Don’t you dare call my sister by that name again. Don’t you dare.

DORAI:

So what should I call her? A devi? A virgin goddess? She came to me after being used, she was somebody else’s leavings.

THANGAM:

You could have left her. She would have lived a happier life.

DORAI:

How could I have left her? Her father was in complete control of my life, he got me a job, he paid for my sister’s marriage, he looked after my father in his last days. I did not even have to pay the doctor’s fees.

THANGAM:

So you stayed with her because of your greed for money. You stayed with her so that you could punish her every minute of her life. You mocked her and taunted her, you tortured her. I have seen the marks of your hands on her body. I have seen your nail marks.

DORAI:

She would not tell me who the father was. First I used to ask her softly, 73

sweetly. She would not tell me. Then I beat her. She stayed quiet. She would not even cry out in pain. She was so obstinate, that … that. … Then it became a game to see how I could take it out of her. … (Pause.) She never told me. THANGAM:

Why should she tell you? It was her secret.

DORAI:

She was my wife.

THANGAM:

So what? Did you tell her the names of the women you had slept with? What about that married woman who used to come to the temple everyday and take prasaadam from your father? She took prasaadam from you also, isn’t it?

DORAI:

It is different for a man.

THANGAM:

Why? Because pregnant?

DORAI:

Shenishwari! Mundai! Your sister was my wife. She was carrying somebody else’s son. I had to feed that son, that bastard. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to drown him but she would not let him out of her sight.

THANGAM:

And then when he got a scholarship from class 1 and people praised him

74

you

don’t

get

to you as a worthy son, you became flattered. And now of course, he will take you to the States. DORAI:

I treated him just like my other children.

THANGAM:

But you were never sure of them either, isn’t it? Was Usha your daughter or his? And Mani, whose son was he? You used to watch every man who came to the house. Could this be him? Was this him? Even when she had lost all her beauty and was carrying Kannan, you used to have suspicions. You were like a mad man.

DORAI:

Why didn’t she tell me? If she had told me, I would have forgotten it. I would have treated her well. But she ruined my life, I could never rest. I could not put my head down on the pillow wondering who he was. Whether he still came to see her, what they did together, what they said about me.

THANGAM:

Did you ever think that the thing could have been forced on her?

DORAI:

Forced?… Forced? Ramachandra Iyer’s petted daughter? Who was carried about as if she was a

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princess? Whose face nobody was even allowed to see? Not even the Queen of England has the same security. Oh no! You didn’t know your sister! She wanted a man. She planned it all herself, she fooled everybody, your father, you … everybody. And then when it was too late, she ran to him for help. She was a whore, your sister, nothing but a whore, a high class prostitute. THANGAM snatches up a glass from the table and is about to fling it at DORAI. REVATHY stops her. There is the sound of thunder and lights dim. A moment’s freeze and the lights come on again. THANGAM:

(Slowly, as if in a dream.) It is getting late. The boy should sleep. He has class in the first hour tomorrow.

She begins to pull away chairs and tables to make place for KANNAN’S mat. REVATHY helps her. VOICE-OVER:

Because a woman has patience, she is not allowed to speak; others speak for her, and she never learns the words. Because a woman is strong, she is not to be protected; 76

others violate her, and she trespass.

must

pay

for

their

Because a woman has breasts, she cannot be on her own; age turns her skin to parchment, and then she is left alone. Frantic knocking at the door. REVATHY:

Who can it be now?

DORAI:

I’ll go. Stay back.

More knocking. DORAI:

Who is it? Who?… Mani! At this time! Wait! Wait!

MANI comes in, wild, dishevelled. REVATHY:

You said you were coming tomorrow by the first bus? … You must be wet. Come, come inside. I’ll get you a towel. Have you eaten?

MANI:

No, I’m not hungry.

REVATHY:

I’ll get you a towel.

DORAI:

Something has happened! I can see it on your face. 77

REVATHY:

What has alright?

happened?

Are

you

DORAI:

Is it Usha?

MANI:

I did not see Usha.

DORAI:

Then what is it?

DORAI:

Sriram what … Sriram’s? What? What?

MANI:

Sriram. Sriram’s …

MANI:

Sriram’s father. I know who it is.

THANGAM:

(Cries out.) NO!

MANI:

(Tries to clasp her.) Periamma!

THANGAM:

(Breaks away from him.) No, for God’s sake, no.

MANI:

I found a secret compartment in Grandfather’s old trunk … I found it only by chance. There was a letter in it. A letter he had started and not finished. A letter to … (He looks at THANGAM.) … Periappa.

THANGAM:

(sobbing) I had gone to the temple. For ten minutes. … And he … he was drunk … she was just a child … a flower … my little sister …

There are sounds of footsteps and a young woman pushes open the unlatched door.

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DORAI:

Usha!

USHA:

Why is the door not locked, Appa? You are so careful usually. (It is her voice that has read the poems.)

MANI:

Usha! How are you here at this time? Have you come alone?

USHA:

Yes, I’ve come alone. I’ve come back home, Appa.

Blackout. End of Act 1. Act 2 Scene 1. An elegant living room. Expensive but simple furniture, chairs, a divan, discreet, glass top tables. The wall cupboard is arranged with sturdy, well-worn books, most of them in hard cover. There is a glossy rubber tree in a brass planter near the front door, downstage left. Downstage right is a small cabinet holding the phone and a shallow bowl of flowers. The entrance to the inner door, upstage right, is masked by a pretty screen. There is a garden door, upstage, right of centre. As scene opens, SURESH, (MANI in Act 1) is on the phone. He is in his twenties, fresh-looking, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. SURESH:

Hello! Yes, it’s me. What were you doing? … Me too. (Looks around and

79

blows a kiss.) Got that … Mmmmm. … Missed you too. … What? Oh, the play … it was terrible … like a Tamil film in English … rape, illegitimate son, suicide, wife beating … the works. What? Of course, I’d rather have been with you, much rather. But you know what Amma is like. She had to go and buy tickets for everybody … her latest good cause … the author is some struggling friend of hers. … What? Oh sorry … the playwright is somebody she knows. Amma says this lady has terrific talent and nobody recognises it so we ought to encourage her by going to see her play. No, she wasn’t there, she lives in Delhi or something. Why are we talking about her anyway? … What? Culture, is it? Ha, ha, ha! Forget it! What are you doing tonight? … What? … Oh no. Can’t you get out of it? Who, your uncle, is it? And … Oh shit … okay, what can’t be cured, etc. … I? Oh, I’ll sit at home and moon, what else. … You don’t leave me an option, do you? … Okay bye … (Kisses rapid fire, presses the button and dials another number. Changes voice dramatically to a softer tone.) Hello! … Hi! … Look, I’m sorry about what happened that day at the canteen … I mean I really don’t know why I

80

behaved like that … I’ve been feeling lousy about it … please believe me … Look, can I meet you some place and discuss it? … Tonight? … Okay, I’ll be there … definitely … Sweetheart, I swear I have been miserable since that day … Who? Oh, she? Just a friend … Look, I’ll tell you about it tonight … You are not mad with me now, are you? Oh, my darling … heck … got to go … Bye … SUMATI enters. She is USHA in Act 1. Here she is about six years older than SURESH, sad faced but definitely not a martyr. She is holding what looks like a an old diary. SUMATI:

Who was that, another conquest?

SURESH:

Oh, come on Su! What do you think I am, Don Juan? (He pronounces the ‘J’ wrong.)

SUMATI:

That’s Don Juan and, yes, I think you are playing the field. I don’t think it’s fair.

SURESH:

Just having some fun, that’s all. Didn’t you have fun too, in college?

SUMATI:

No.

SURESH:

Sorry … shouldn’t have asked. Look, can you lend me some money? I’m totally broke and I have a date tonight. 81

THANGAM enters. She is the THANGAM in Act 1 but a completely different person, much younger, about forty-five, modern, full of energy. She wears a smart duster coat over what may be an eminently sensible nightdress, has a duster with her and moves about cleaning and dusting neatly and comprehensively. THANGAM:

Suresh, you know the rules in this house. No more money till the first of next month. We have discussed this ad nauseam and you still don’t seem to remember. … What do you do with your money, anyway?… Alright … alright … I won’t ask. That was the deal, wasn’t it?

SURESH:

Amma, I’m a mature, responsible adult, capable of taking my own decisions, especially money decisions. (SUMATI laughs.) What are you laughing for?

SUMATI:

Sorry! But you sounded just like Mani!

SURESH:

Mani?

SUMATI:

In yesterday’s play. Remember that rather pompous fellow, the son, the older one? … Come to think of it … you even look like him.

SURESH:

Don’t be stupid. He looked like an oaf. 82

SUMATI:

Exactly.

SURESH:

You seriously think I look like an oaf? … Amma?

THANGAM:

Well, sometimes you do get this rather bovine look … especially when you are short of money.

SUMATI:

Short? He’s broke. And it’s only the sixteenth.

SURESH:

You don’t have to rub it in, okay? Just because …

THANGAM:

(Hastily.) I thought the character of that woman was well done … my namesake. In the play.

SUMATI:

The old woman? Yes. She was rather strong, wasn’t she? But do you really think a woman would continue to live with a man who has raped her sister?

THANGAM:

It can happen, you know … I knew a family near our old house … the man was an executive in one of these multinationals. … What was his name? I can’t remember. …

SURESH:

What did he sister-in-law?

THANGAM:

In a way, yes. The girl had gone to help her sister with her delivery. She

83

do?

Rape

his

was unmarried and had finished her studies or something. Anyway, she was free and so she was sent. But by the time the older sister came back from hospital, the younger one was expecting. SURESH:

Shit!

THANGAM:

Suresh!

SUMATI:

Poor girl! Then what happened to her?

THANGAM:

He married her! And he lived with both of them.

SUMATI:

In the same house?

THANGAM:

In the same house.

SUMATI:

And the children?

THANGAM:

Where would the children go? They lived there too.

SUMATI:

Their joint children.

THANGAM:

Yes.

SURESH:

Lucky guy! He really had it cool, didn’t he? Probably had orgies.

THANGAM:

Suresh!

SUMATI:

But what sort of life would it have been for the women, for the two sisters? To have to share a house,

84

share a man, share a marriage? They probably ended up hating each other. … Did they, Amma? Do you know? THANGAM:

(Preoccupied with something she has found in the leaves of a book.) Do I know what?

SUMATI:

Whether they hated each other. The two sisters.

THANGAM:

(She puts the book into the pocket of her duster coat.) I never could make out. I used to go there quite often, you know, because the sisters held bhajans once in a while and my mother would take me. But everything was always perfectly normal.

SUMATI:

Did you ever see the man?

THANGAM:

Yes, of course, very often. He used to pat me on the head and tell my mother I would be India’s next MS!

SUMATI:

Weren’t you afraid of him?

THANGAM:

Afraid? Why should I have been afraid? He was like an uncle.

SUMATI:

Some uncles are …

THANGAM:

What?

85

SUMATI:

Nothing. … They are … they pretend to … (She trails Off.)

SURESH:

But that story of the two sisters … didn’t you get any bad vibes between them? You know, the dishumdishum look. Like what happened between the old woman and that rather pretty daughter-in-law in the play yesterday.

THANGAM:

I don’t know what a dishum-dishum look is. But if you mean did the two sisters look daggers at each other or cast insinuations … they did not. They were perfectly well behaved, very lady like. When we were present anyway.

SURESH:

Oh ho! So that proves my point.

THANGAM:

What point?

SURESH:

What I said yesterday when we came out of the auditorium. That everything about the play was false, the behaviour of the characters, the dialogue, the story, everything. It was just a thunder and lightning script, a commercial film script, the dabbawallah type. You think real people actually speak that way to each other? ‘Brother-in-law, what I

86

know, I know. My sister was a flower, an innocent flower.’ Shit! THANGAM:

Suresh! How many times have I told you not to use that word … You always …

SURESH:

Alright! Alright! Sorry! But I am right, aren’t I? That the conversations were weird? It made them sound as if they were mouthing somebody else’s thoughts all the time.

SUMATI:

Maybe that was the idea.

SURESH:

What?

SUMATI:

That they were all pawns.

SURESH:

What do you mean?

SUMATI:

Just think of those characters — Dorai, Periamma, Mani, even Revathy. First you dislike them, then you begin to feel sorry for them, then you wonder whether they were all just pawns. Pawns in somebody else’s game.

SURESH:

I think that kind of philosophy is sh … I mean nonsense. You really mean to say that we are all ruled by fate? That we live our life in the straitjacket of destiny? That we can never free ourselves from it? Rubbish!

87

SUMATI:

The straitjacket of destiny! Well, it is a philosophy that a lot of people have adopted, including your favourite poet, Omar Khayyam.

SURESH:

He’s not my favourite poet. I just use that poem of his to impress the girls. You know the one I mean … ‘a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou …’ Sometimes I don’t even tell them who wrote it. They think it’s mine. And if I recite it with the right kind of look in my eyes, boy, they are all over me.

SUMATI:

That’s sick!

SURESH:

What’s sick?

SUMATI:

The way you talk about girls, about women. You don’t seem to have a speck of respect for them.

SURESH:

That’s not true. I have a lot of respect for Amma. And for you also … when you are not yelling at me.

SUMATI:

So that means that the moment a woman doesn’t fit into the category of being a mother or a sister, she’s baggage … (With a look at her mother.) sexual baggage.

SURESH:

You used the word, not me.

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THANGAM:

(A little uneasy.) How did we get into this? I thought we were discussing the play. … Come on, you two, I have to say something to the lady when she calls. (Silence.) So what shall I say? That you liked it?

SURESH:

Tell her it was wonderful. That it was truly a memorable experience, unforgettable. (Begins to sing ‘unforgettable’.)

Pause. SUMATI:

Would you have said that if the dramatist had been a man? (No response from SURESH.) Wrapped up all your critical comments in this huge, sweet lie?

SURESH:

Look Su, don’t you think you are overdoing this feminist business? I mean I just have to open my mouth and I am saying all the wrong things!

SUMATI:

What exactly do you mean by the word, ‘feminist’?

SURESH:

Oh god! … Look, just forget it.

SUMATI:

I want to know. I think it’s important.

SURESH:

Why? … So that you can fight with me like you have fought for so many years? When we were children,

89

it was because you were older than me, and you wanted to be boss. You hated me. You thought Amma loved me more than she loved you. SUMATI:

She does.

THANGAM:

(Swiftly.) That’s not true. That’s not true at all. How can you say such a thing?

SUMATI:

(After a pause.) That Deepavali, you remember, when I was twelve. Suresh had eaten all kinds of things and in the evening, he got a tummy upset. An ordinary tummy upset. But you treated it as if it was life threatening, as if he was going to die. And you sat by his bedside in tears, and you didn’t light a single lamp.

THANGAM:

(With a shaky laugh.) I was very silly those days. I used to think a sneeze meant pneumonia.

SUMATI:

That wasn’t all. … Your worry I could understand, even then. But when I wanted to change from a frock to my paavaadai, you yelled at me. You said … you said that … that I was a sinner, that I didn’t love my brother, that I would be happy if he died. …

THANGAM:

I don’t remember saying that but it must have been because … I told 90

you … I used to get hysterical about your illnesses. I was like a mad woman when either of you fell ill. SUMATI:

Not either. Just him …

Pause. THANGAM:

Probably because he is the younger. I know it’s idiotic, but parents do tend to coddle younger children. And you were almost six and a very independent little girl by the time Suresh arrived. Your father and I probably wanted the baby to be a baby for a while longer.

SUMATI:

And he’s still a baby!

SURESH:

I’m not! No way!

SUMATI:

(Cutting him.) Amma. Tell me. Why is that when I was almost six, I was a very independent little girl?

THANGAM:

That was you, I suppose. The way you were born. Your zodiac sign.

SUMATI:

No. Because you let go of me. You especially. I had to do my growing up by myself, on my own. Oh yes, you gave me gorgeous clothes and nourishing meals. It wasn’t like the Doordarshan things that are shown … a careworn girl pecking at a dry

91

roti while her brother gets all the milk. It wasn’t that way at all. But did you ever ask me how it was for me at school, apart from my marks, that is? What I thought of my friends, my teachers, whom did I love most? I don’t even remember your singing me to sleep. You brought me up efficiently, correctly, but without soul. THANGAM:

(Defeated.) I don’t know why you are bringing up all this today, Sumati. We were only discussing the play. You take things so intensely, so personally.

SUMATI:

It was an intense play.

THANGAM:

Yes. Alright. In parts. But it was still just a play.

SUMATI:

Just a play? You talk like that Jane Austen character who tossed aside a book saying it was ‘just a novel’. But I am not talking literary criticism, I am asking you … as a woman. … What are you going to say to your writer friend when she calls, that it was ‘just a play’?… Tell me, wasn’t there anything in it that reached out and touched you, raked your memories, made an old scar burn alive again?

92

The doorbell rings, SURESH looks at the two women and crosses to open the door. There is the sound of lively young voices and VIKRAM and RADHA enter. VIKRAM was KANNAN in Act 1 and RADHA was REVATHY. They are dressed casually and are in high spirits. VIKRAM is a bright, affectionate young man of about twenty-four, much given to quick hugs. He is, however, restrained with SUMATI. RADHA is younger, quieter. RADHA andHi! Hello! Hello Aunty! Hello Su! VIKRAM: THANGAM Hi! Hello Radha! Hi Vikram! and SUMATI: VIKRAM:

(To SUMATI.) Oops! I shouldn’t be saying ‘Hi’ to a lecturer, should I?

SURESH:

How dare you address her in that improper manner, sir? Rectify your gross error immediately.

VIKRAM is about to bow to SUMATI, when SURESH pushes him back to the door, makes him ring the bell and re-enter. VIKRAM submits with good grace, though it is evident that SUMATI is not amused. SURESH:

(Prompting.) Say it. G-o-o-d m-o-

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VIKRAM:

Good morning, ma’am. How are you, ma’am? Nice day, ma’am.

VIKRAM’S mock deference is appealing and SUMATI smiles. RADHA has been giggling all the while. THANGAM:

Come, sit down, sit down. Clowns, aren’t you? So Vicky, what is the programme on your last day of vacation? What about you, Radha? Your classes start later, don’t they?

RADHA:

We re-open only next week, Aunty. The undergrads have classes from tomorrow, poor things.

VIKRAM:

What about us researchers? We have to slog for our living, unlike you PU types.

RADHA:

Oh yeah! You are always on holiday.

SURESH:

And what about us poor engineers? We never get time off, yaar.

THANGAM:

Really? I seem to feel you have been under my feet for the last century. … Alright … alright. … Now tell me what you children want to eat and drink. I’ll make it and then go for my bath.

SUMATI:

You go for your bath, Amma, and I’ll get them what they want. (Starts to get up.)

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VIKRAM:

(Quickly.) Don’t be funny. We … we don’t want anything now. Do we, Ra? Don’t disappear into the kitchen. Please. … Aunty, you go and have a nice long bath. Mummy said she and Daddy might drop in after their golf. She wanted to ask you about some play, some friend’s play, she said. I didn’t know that Mummy was moving in literary circles.

THANGAM:

(With a glance at SUMATI.) The lady is a common friend. She was in college with your Mummy and me. She lives in Delhi now and has done much better for herself that Vaidehi and I have.

VIKRAM:

Writing plays?

THANGAM:

That’s just a hobby of hers … sorry, she calls it her vocation. She actually has quite a glamorous job. She is a management consultant.

SUMATI:

Not married?

THANGAM:

Not married.

VIKRAM:

(Looking from one to the other.) Why do you say it that way? What has being married or not being married to do with it?

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SUMATI:

(Quietly.) If you were a woman, you would know.

THANGAM:

(Extra brightly.) Su’s right. You don’t really know what a woman’s life is like, Vicky. Feeding all you brutes and having to laugh at your jokes … I better hurry and get ready before Vaidehi comes. … When do you think the golfers will arrive?

SURESH:

What did Appa say? Are they playing all eighteen holes?

VIKRAM:

Dad said eighteen.

THANGAM:

They’ll be late then and starving like Suresh’s lion in the Calcutta zoo.

VIKRAM:

Suresh’s lion? Calcutta zoo? What’s all this?

THANGAM:

You mean Suresh hasn’t unleashed his favourite joke on you yet?

SURESH:

It’s not my favourite joke, Amma. It’s just a good one. I think.

VIKRAM:

Whatever. Come on, tell it.

RADHA:

Yeah. Tell us.

THANGAM:

I can see Suresh licking his lips. Enjoy yourselves. I’m going for a bath. (Exits.)

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SURESH:

You don’t mind, Su? (SUMATI shrugs her shoulders.) Alright … here goes. … There was this young postgraduate, see, who had done brilliantly in his exams … first in the university and all that. The only problem was that he had studied Bengali Literature. And nobody would give him a job. There was absolutely no opening for a postgraduate in Bengali, however brilliant he might be. Anyway, he trudged up and down for four years looking for work, any work. Nothing. He was really desperate. Then, one morning when he was scanning the papers as usual, he noticed an ad which said that the orangutan in the Calcutta Zoo had died and able-bodied young men between the ages twenty and thirty could apply … (As SURESH tells the joke, the only person to give him full attention is RADHA. SUMATI sits enclosed in herself, looking through her diary, and VIKRAM’S glance is on her more often than not.) Of course, our hero applied for the post and wonder of wonders was called for an interview. He dressed in his best shirt and borrowed shoes and did well at the interview. Apparently the board was

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very impressed with his views on Tagore’s love poetry. Anyway he got the job and was asked to report for duty with immediate effect. Which of course he did. … It was a terrific job, you know, as jobs go. Two good meals, a snack, an unlimited supply of cigarettes, and of course, a fancy salary. RADHA:

What did he have to do?

SURESH:

That was the best part. All he had to do was to wear the skin of the orangutan, which covered him head to foot, and jump about and smoke cigarettes and generally enjoy himself. He really had it made. Then, one Sunday, there was a larger than usual crowd at the zoo, and in the crowd was a girl he had flipped for in college. You know, one of those large-eyed Bong types. (RADHA giggles.) Anyway, he got very excited and swung recklessly from bar to bar and climbed higher and higher till he reached the top of his cage and then he jumped. (RADHA gasps.) It wasn’t a dangerous jump at all but what happened was that he found that he had jumped into the wrong cage. He had landed in the cage of the lion.

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RADHA:

Then?

During the next part of the joke, SURESH addresses it to RADHA alone and stalks her when he talks about the lion. SURESH:

What could he do? He couldn’t cry out in his human voice. That was against the service rules. So he pressed himself against the cage at the farthest end while the great king of the jungle got up and yawned and stalked up to him. (SURESH enacts all this with gusto.) The lion came closer and closer while our poor friend sweated and prayed to all the gods he knew …

RADHA:

Then what happened?

SURESH:

The lion was a foot away from him, now half a foot… now he could smell the hot breath of the beast … (RADHA pushes him away.) Then … the lion reached up to his ear and said, ‘Dada, don’t worry. I’m also a Bengali MA.’

RADHA shrieks with laughter. VIKRAM joins in, but not as boisterously. VIKRAM:

Well, I’m glad it’s not as bad for English literature types. I mean, like … like Su … she got the job straight away. 99

SURESH:

(With a mock groan.) Oh god, Vicky! Do you have to be so dim and earnest all the time? You ought to have been born a chimp.

VIKRAM:

You want me to be an orangutan? I can orangutan you out of the window.

He jumps and begins to make faces and jump about chimp-like. SURESH joins him. RADHA is in splits. Even SUMATI has to smile. SURESH:

(Collapsing with laughter.) Oh god, yaar! You ought to have been born a chimp.

VIKRAM:

Not so fast, sir, not so fast. (Grandly.) You can now listen to my brilliant and masterly analysis of that rather puerile joke you cracked.

SURESH:

Puerile, did you say?

VIKRAM:

(With mock pomposity.) Yes. Puerile. What was it but a poor attempt to denigrate that most essential of human talent, the ability to communicate? Using a sophisticated code of sounds that can convey a vast range of signals and express emotions that are … that are …

SURESH:

That are forgotten.

RADHA:

That are stupid.

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SUMATI:

That are otherwise incoherent.

VIKRAM:

(To SUMATI.) Exactly. That are otherwise incoherent. You see, it is only language that can give form to my feelings, my deepest thoughts.

SUMATI:

So if there was no language, there would be no thought, is that what you are saying?

VIKRAM:

(Slowly.) Yes, that is what it would seem to be.

SURESH:

Well, in that case, I’m glad Vicky knows English.

RADHA:

Why?

SURESH:

Because if he were to use Tamil, he would have no thoughts. … His Tamil is a standing, sitting joke, yaar … Aunty once asked him to buy a ladle and he went and asked for a karadi instead of a karandi, for a bear instead of a ladle.

VIKRAM:

Well, you must remember I was a Yankee cowboy for a major part of my life. And I am trying to learn Tamil now.

SUMATI:

Isn’t it sad that with so many languages in our own land, we use English when talking to each other?

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SURESH:

Why should it be sad? English is also one of our languages; it’s been with us for more than two centuries. And you saying it Su, having studied English Literature all these years and now with a brand new job as a lecturer in English; how can you say it’s sad?

SUMATI:

It is. I feel it. I feel as if I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not English because I am brown and eat with my fingers. I don’t belong to India because I think in English and have all kinds of ideas that are not part of the culture that I was born into.

VIKRAM:

Ideas like what?

SUMATI:

It was when I was watching the play yesterday that I realised. The play is in English, you know, but it’s about a small-town Tamil family. A very rooted family, upper middle class. In actual life, a family like that would not use English at all, except the father perhaps, at his place of work. And what the writer has tried to do is to use an un-English syntax to show that the characters are not meant to be speaking in English. The things they said, the images they used, they were not English. The script sounded like a

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translation. I think that is what Suresh didn’t like about the play. SURESH:

I’m telling you it sounded like a film yaar, a heavy Tamil film. Shivaji Ganesan on his knees, beating his breast in front of his mother’s photograph … (Enacts it.) ‘Thaaye! Mother! Here is your son! Your wicked son! The paavi! Forgive him mother! Forgive him.’

RADHA is in giggles again. But SUMATI, and therefore VIKRAM, continue to be serious. SUMATI:

You see! The word ‘paavi’, for instance, you can never translate it into English and get its full flavour. And because the script broke away from English syntax, it sounded rhetorical. Loud. Empty.

VIKRAM:

But what were the ideas that you were talking about, the ones that don’t belong to our culture?

SUMATI:

(A trifle embarrassed.) Well, you know, the play was about relationships. The relationship between husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, between friends … close, deep emotional links. And yet not once, not once, was there a mention of love.

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SURESH:

So?

SUMATI:

So, does love exist at all in our culture? Or has that emotion too, like patriotism, been imported?

A flurry of reactions. SURESH:

Patriotism is not a Western concept.

RADHA:

There are lots of Tamil songs I’ve learnt that are about love. Love for the motherland, for parents, for brothers …

SUMATI:

Think of when they were written. They may have been post-British, like Bhaaratiyaar’s.

RADHA:

No, these are really old songs. You know, things like lullabies.

SUMATI:

(Laughs suddenly.) Lullabies, yes. A mother’s love for her baby, I don’t know of any other society that celebrates it with such tenderness … especially if the baby is a boy. … But …

VIKRAM:

But what?

SUMATI:

But what happens between adults?

VIKRAM:

(Gets up and moves about restlessly.) You mean … romantic love?

SUMATI:

(Softly.) Yes. That too.

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SURESH:

(Jumps up.) As far as I am concerned, I don’t care if love is English, or Icelandic, or Mongolian … I believe in it. (Sings.) I believe in love … (He takes RADHA by the hand.) … Come on Ra … Let’s go and see if Amma is out of her bath. I’m starving.

SURESH and RADHA exit, SURESH still singing. Silence. VIKRAM:

Do you believe in it?

SUMATI:

(Cautiously.) Believe in what?

VIKRAM:

In what the song says.

SUMATI:

(Tries to defuse his intensity.) You mean the song that Suresh is croaking?

VIKRAM:

Yes.

SUMATI:

It’s a pretty song. I like the line that says, ‘I don’t believe that heaven waits/ for only those who congregate’… And yes, I do believe in babies.

VIKRAM:

And …?

SUMATI:

And what?

VIKRAM:

Su, I … I want to say something to you.

SUMATI:

No. Don’t.

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VIKRAM:

Don’t?

SUMATI:

You will regret it. You will wish it unsaid. I know. Please! Don’t say anything. Please! (She is in panic.)

SURESH:

(Off.) Vicky! Come on, Amma is making dosai … Sinna sinna aasai, periya periya dosai …

VIKRAM is still looking at SUMATI. THANGAM:

(Off.) Vicky! Where are you?

SUMATI:

You better go.

VIKRAM exits. SUMATI:

(Leans back with a sigh. After a moment, she picks up the diary and turns its pages slowly. After another moment, she stops and begins to read out.) And the flowers were everywhere roses and marigold and jasmine. In a tub in the courtyard were crowds of wet, white tuberoses meant for later, for the night for the bed. And the ladies, in silk and gold

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their mouths red with paan and the dissection of the celebration did not notice that the bride was missing. And the priests continued their chants they invoked seven generations for their timeless blessings and the seven-tongued flame blew smoke into everyone’s eyes. And so the wedding went on without the bride as so many weddings do; and in the tub, in the courtyard stood the tuberoses, white and wet with crying. Blackout. End of Act 2, Scene 1. Scene 2. The same sets. THANGAM enters as the phone rings. She is dressed in a smart salwar kameez outfit with pockets.

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THANGAM:

Hello! Yes? Who? Suresh? Yes, he’s here. May I know who’s calling? Hello! Hello! … What? I can’t understand what you are saying … hello? (She puts the phone down, obviously disturbed.) Suresh … will you come here, please? Now. Yes. (She takes a book out of her pocket, the same book she had found earlier while dusting the room. SURESH enters, quite unsuspecting.)

SURESH:

Yes, Amma? Why the red alert?

THANGAM:

Suresh, please be serious for once. Who is this girl who cries over the phone when she asks for you ?

SURESH:

What? What do you mean?

THANGAM:

That phone call just now. It was a girl, asking for you. Choking with tears. She couldn’t speak for the tears. How can you treat a girl, any girl, that way? Don’t you have any feelings anymore? You never used to be like this.

SURESH:

(Pause.) I’m sorry Amma.

THANGAM:

Why are you saying ‘sorry’ to me? You should say it to that poor child, whoever she is. Do you know who she is? 108

SURESH:

Did you get her name?

THANGAM:

No, but I’m sure you know who it is.

SURESH:

Yeah. I think I do.

THANGAM:

What did you do to her?

SURESH:

I went out with another girl and … well … told her a lot of crap … made out I was interested … you know … this one must have found out … she is one of those sensitive types.

THANGAM:

(Livid but quietly.) And this letter in the pages of this book? This extremely passionate letter? From somebody who is evidently head over heels in love with you. And you with her. For over two years …. Who is she? The same girl? Or yet another one?

SURESH:

What are you talking about? (Looks at the letter.) This is not mine. Where did you find it?

THANGAM:

Suresh, you leave a letter like this around, and you don’t even remember where you put it. How can you be so callous? I feel ashamed to…. It was in this book.

SURESH:

Stephen Hawking? A Brief History of Time? Amma, you know I don’t read

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this kind of stuff. The only person in this house who …. Heavy footsteps at the door. The sound of a key turning and SREENI enters with NARI and VAIDEHI. SREENI was DORAI in Act 1. He is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and is carrying a golf set. NARI was VAITHI in Act 1 and is here dressed in golfing clothes and a golf cap. His wife, VAIDEHI, KAMALA in Act 1, is dressed similarly. She speaks in an American drawl that collapses every now and then. NARI is bluff, hearty, all American and fond of touching. A habit picked up from the States? NARI:

Hi Thangam sweetie! You are looking great! Hello son! What’re you doing hangin’ around here? Aren’t there any pretty girls you know?

SURESH:

(With an embarrassed look at his father.) Hi Uncle! I was just tucking into Amma’s dosais. Vicky and Ra are here too.

VAIDEHI:

Gee! Have you been feeding them as usual, Thangam?

SREENI:

Here, Suresh, put my golf set away, will you?

SURESH:

Amma, we are going out for a film. I’ve promised Ra and Vicky a treat.

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(SURESH exits with SREENI’S golf set.) THANGAM:

Sit down. Sit down, both of you.

NARI:

You know sumpin’? It feels good to be back. Back in dear ol’ Mylapore. With maamis in silk saris and white blouses. And the kolam and the smell of Vasu’s coffee powder. Can’t believe I’ve been back just two weeks … feels like I’ve never been away. … Where’s that cute daughter of yours … she’s really grown pretty … you know … first thing I told Vi … that girl has grown real pretty. … Oh, Vi told me everything … don’t worry, she will get over it … a month or two, and she’ll be fine. Hey Sreeni, you got a real beating today, didn’t ya? I learnt my game from Oriental masters man … the Japs … oh boy … they treat it like it is a religion …. Never took to baseball y’know, so the Yanks thought I was a weirdo … then I showed them what I could do with a club … were they impressed … got through a deal with the Japs too. … Hey, why am I going on like this? You guys talk too.

SREENI:

You have to give us a little time Nari, like Manmohan Singh told the World

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Bank. Now, what will you have? Beer? Whisky? Or is it too early for that? Vi? What about you? VAIDEHI:

I think coffee will be fine, just fine.

NARI:

Yeah, the drinks can come later. First Thangam’s coffee!

THANGAM:

I’ll go and make it.

VAIDEHI:

Let me help you.

THANGAM:

No, don’t. You stay. I won’t be long.

SREENI looks at THANGAM, tries to catch her eye; she looks away as she leaves through the inner door. NARI:

Grand place you have here, Sreeni. And what a piece of luck! Just a coupla blocks from us. When Vi called and told me, I was thrilled, let me tell ya. How did you come by it?

VAIDEHI:

Nari! I told you it’s Sreeni’s ancestral property, his grandfather’s place, his grandpa’s.

NARI:

You didn’t tell me honey, but I think that’s just great. You’ve kept the basic plan of the house, Sreeni?

SREENI:

As far as possible, yes. This room, for instance, is the same, except for that additional door to the garden. I’ve

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made a few changes in the other rooms, opened them out a little more, built another bathroom, added a guest room … NARI:

Wonderful! Just wonderful! And to think our children are growing up together, it makes my heart warm … Vi, you remember the pledge you made in college, you and Thangam. I must say that was the first thing I thought about when I got my first peek at our little Radha. Your Suresh and our Radha. They make a great pair, don’t they?

THANGAM has heard this as she comes in with the coffee tray and sets it on the table. THANGAM:

(Sharply.) We can’t plan our children’s lives, Nari. Not any more. Their choices have to be their own. Isn’t that what life in the States is all about?

NARI:

(Discomfited.) Yeah, yeah. You’re right. It was just a wish. (With aplomb.) I’m going through my mid-life crisis, y’know, so I have all these crazy ideas. … No hassle, let the children do what they want. God bless ‘em, that’s what I say. God bless ’em.

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THANGAM serves tea. Hands SREENI his cup with scrupulous politeness. Smiles at the others, hands around biscuits and small eats. VOICE-OVER:

Surely he must come again the rain god. I have watched for him through nights and days as the sun parched my limbs and my eyes burned. It is only the white man who talks of the sun as friend. What does the white man know? He is always cold. I know the sun, He rages with jealousy. And I would betray him as Kunti did, I would betray him and take for lover the gentle, laughing god of rain.

NARI:

Great coffee. Mm. Really great. (Drains his cup.) Haven’t had such murukku for

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ages either. Sreeni, what say you to taking me round your place? Am planning a few renovations myself. Have to get my fax working and fix a small den for myself to escape from Vi on one of her bad days and … VAIDEHI:

Sweetheart, why don’t we do that later? I’m all filthy wading through puddles. I need to clean up.

NARI:

Vi can’t practice putting without getting neck deep into a hazard. She has a real talent for that kinda stuff.

SREENI:

Oh come come, Nari. Vaidehi might surprise you one of these days. You know how women are, full of surprises.

NARI:

Tellin’ me! Look at that lil’ girl of yours. Hey, I wanted to see her.

VAIDEHI:

Later sweetie, later. I’m sure Sreeni is real keen on a wash too.

SREENI:

Actually yes. But why don’t you come in later?

NARI:

Swank idea! We’ll be back later. See ya guys. If you can’t be good, be careful.

NARI and VAIDEHI exit. SREENI begins to turn over the papers and magazines on the table. THANGAM:

Are you looking for something?

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SREENI:

No, nothing. Nothing important. Just a book. Must have left it in the car.

THANGAM:

Is it this? (She throws the book at him. His face is ashen as he turns to look at her.)

Blackout. End of Act 2, Scene 2. Scene 3. A little later. Sound of key turning in the front door and SURESH enters with RADHA and VIKRAM. SURESH is unusually subdued. VIKRAM:

Hey, where is everybody?

SURESH:

You guys stay here. I’ll check. (Exits through inner door.)

RADHA:

Everyone is behaving funny today. Did you see Aunty in the morning? When we were leaving? Her face was all swollen up. And Uncle was also looking funny.

VIKRAM:

Lots of people have problems they don’t talk about. Or don’t want to talk about.

RADHA:

Suresh too?

VIKRAM:

Suresh?

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RADHA:

Didn’t you notice? He has been very quiet. It’s funny for Suresh to be quiet.

Silence. VIKRAM:

You like Suresh, don’t you?

RADHA nods her head. VIKRAM:

Very much?

RADHA:

(In a small voice.) Yes.

VIKRAM:

Have you talked to anyone about it?

RADHA:

Whom do I talk to? You know Mummy. She will say I am too young. And Daddy will take it as a big joke and tell Aunty and Uncle. And they will all laugh. Especially because …

VIKRAM:

Especially because?

RADHA:

Because Mummy and Aunty made this stupid promise to each other in college. That if they had a son and a daughter of the right ages, they would get them married. … People do such funny things.

VIKRAM:

Yes … (Gets up.) Radha … I have to tell you something that is not very pleasant … but I think you should know about it.

RADHA:

What is it Vicky? Is it about Suresh? 117

VIKRAM:

Yes … I find he has become rather careless about his friendships, especially with women. … He treats them like pieces in a chess game … like pawns … he uses strategies and ploys and then, once he’s …

RADHA:

Once he’s had his way with them, he’s not interested any more?

VIKRAM:

Yes. As if that’s all there is to a relationship, as if between a man and a woman, there is only the possibility of a check and a mate. A game. A sexual conquest.

Silence. RADHA:

Are all men like Suresh, Vicky?

VIKRAM:

Some of them, yes. But not all.

RADHA:

Are you like Suresh?

VIKRAM:

(Laughs suddenly.) Direct, aren’t you, little sister?

RADHA:

Tell me.

VIKRAM:

I think power, especially sexual power, is limiting. All of us have an infinite capacity to be much more than what we wish to be.

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RADHA:

(After a pause.) I wish Su had come out with us today. She hardly ever goes out these days.

VIKRAM:

Yes, I’ve noticed that. She’s always enclosed within herself.

RADHA:

She has been very hurt.

VIKRAM:

Su?

RADHA:

Yes. It happened a few months ago … before you came back … Su was sort of engaged to somebody from a very big family.

VIKRAM:

I didn’t know that.

RADHA:

It wasn’t formal. And anyway, within a week it was broken off.

VIKRAM:

Why?

RADHA:

Su had gone out with this man and I think he was violent with her. She didn’t realise … he suddenly …

Pause. RADHA:

I wanted to write to you … to tell you … but … but it’s difficult to talk about something like that … I was so afraid that they would marry her off in spite of what happened. You know how Aunty feels about keeping up appearances?

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But I think Uncle was very clear about what he should do. VIKRAM:

And Su?

RADHA:

You can see how she has become. You remember how she used to be … always so full of affection? Now she doesn’t allow anyone to get close to her … to touch her.

SURESH enters, trying to keep up appearances. SURESH:

Sorry guys, the home atmosphere is rather heavy at the moment. Why don’t we go across to your place, Ra? (Tries to give her a hug.)

RADHA:

(With sudden vehemence.) No! No, thank you. (Runs out through the inner door.)

Blackout. End of Act 2, Scene 3. Scene 4. The same sets, very slightly dishevelled. It is later in the day and the light is heavy amber, as if there is a thunderstorm brewing. SUMATI is at a table, writing in her notebook. THANGAM is on the sofa, pretending to read, but not being able to keep up the pretence for long.

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THANGAM:

Where are Radha and Vikram? I hope Suresh is taking care of them.

SUMATI:

I don’t know what Suresh and Vikram are doing. Radha is in my room, she says she is tired.

THANGAM:

Must be the sun. Have you got your papers ready?

SUMATI:

Yes, Amma. I told you. You’ve asked the same question three times already.

THANGAM:

I’m sorry. I suppose I’m getting nervous about it. After all, it is your first day at work … I had never thought you would have to go to work. … How things change!

SUMATI:

Things have to change isn’t it, for better or for worse.

THANGAM:

(Sharply.) Don’t!

SUMATI:

(Looking up.) What’s the matter?

THANGAM:

‘For better or for worse.’ What kind of a promise is that? Millions of couples get married on that promise and … then do all they can to get away from each other.

SUMATI:

Whom are you talking about Amma?

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THANGAM:

Oh! Nobody we know! I mean, someone like Prince Charles and Lady Diana. … Poor Lady Diana.

SUMATI:

(Still unaware of her mother’s tension.) Why not poor Prince Charles? He’s had a bad time too, you know.

THANGAM:

It’s different for a man.

SUMATI:

How? How can it be different? … In marriage how can it be different? Outside marriage, yes. The man seems to have all the advantages. He can have a roaring good time and he can pick and choose and drop and choose again. But once he’s into a marriage, he’s just as involved, isn’t he? Just as vulnerable.

THANGAM:

You don’t know married life.

SUMATI:

No, I don’t ….

anything

about

An awkward pause. THANGAM:

I’m sorry. I don’t know what I am saying. I have this headache coming up.

SUMATI:

Oh! Why didn’t you tell me? Go and lie down for a little while? You’ll feel

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better. I think you should just get into bed and sleep for half an hour. THANGAM:

No! Your father is in there!

SUMATI:

(Puzzled.) So?

THANGAM:

Nothing. It’s just that if I go now I’ll disturb him.

SUMATI:

Oh, Amma! How stupid I am. Now I realise … you’ve had an argument with Appa …. No wonder you have a headache. Was it about me?

Silence. SUMATI:

Amma, I know what you feel about my working. But I have to fight for myself. Appa is right. He knows so much more about the world than you do. He realises that I have to face life my way, with whatever weapons I have.

THANGAM:

You think they have to be weapons all the time?

SUMATI:

I think so. A woman who allows herself to be soft, who relinquishes her weapons … well she gets chewed up, doesn’t she? … I know it’s a terrible expression but then it’s a terrible state to be in …

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THANGAM:

Yes. I know.

SUMATI:

(Suddenly.) What do you know? You know nothing. You were married at eighteen to a wonderful man who accepted you the way you were, who allowed you to grow, who gave you financial security … who didn’t mind what you did as long as you were home when he came back from work.

THANGAM:

Whenever that was.

SUMATI:

(Quietly now.) He has always held very important posts, he couldn’t run home whenever he wanted to, Amma.

THANGAM:

True … (Gets up, moves about restlessly.) look at the dust … I cleaned the place just this morning (In her agitation, knocks over a vase.) Oh god!

SUMATI:

Wait! Rescue the vase first. It’s Appa’s favourite. Thank goodness. It’s fine. Not even a crack. I’ll go get a cloth. (Runs out.)

THANGAM picks up the vase and is about to hurl it to the floor when doorbell rings. Puts the vase down carefully and after a moment, crosses to open the door for VAIDEHI and NARI as they enter. They

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enter just as SUMATI arrives at the inner door with the mop. VAIDEHI:

Oh, what happened?

THANGAM:

I was a little clumsy with that vase.

VAIDEHI:

That’s quite unlike you. I don’t remember your being clumsy at all, not ever, not even in our college days, no, not even in our college days.

NARI:

Always a first time, eh? (Kneads THANGAM’S shoulder, then looks across at SUMATI.) Hey sweetheart, let me help you. No pretty woman should go down on her knees when Nari is around …

SUMATI:

(Stiffly.) Thanks manage.

NARI:

Oh, come on. I did pretty well on my own back home. (Crosses to help her. She moves away.)

THANGAM:

(Trying to act normal.) You still call the Mid-West back home, Nari?

NARI:

Well, when a guy has spent most of his adult life out there, what else does he call it? A transit lounge? … Well there you are, honeybunch, all done … It looks like nothing has touched it. 125

Uncle.

I

can

VAIDEHI:

Come on Nari, don’t act so dramatic, as if it was acid or something. It was just water.

NARI:

That’s ol’ me, larger than life! … Where’s your father, sweetie? Still recovering from the morning? He got it bad, today. Real bad. Told me his mind was on something else. Garbage! He was just not in form.

SUMATI:

I’ll go and call Appa. (Disappears with the mop.)

NARI:

Why don’t I go along too. I’d like to see Sreeni’s den. And maybe I can get Su to show me her garden before it gets almighty dark. (Exits.)

VAIDEHI:

What’s wrong, Thangam? You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof today.

THANGAM:

You noticed.

VAIDEHI:

I’ve known you a long time, my dear …. Feel like talking?

THANGAM:

I think I can manage …. It will take a couple of days before I decide … I need a few days to … to decide.

VAIDEHI:

Decide what?

THANGAM:

(Gets up, moves about.) To … to leave.

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VAIDEHI:

Leave?

THANGAM:

Leave Sreeni. He … he’s carrying on with someone. I found … a letter today.

SREENI enters, holding a blueprint. SREENI:

Hey, where’s Nari? He wanted to see the plans of the house.

There’s a sudden, terrified scream from inside. It is SUMATI. SUMATI:

(Off.) No! Uncle! No! … (SUMATI rushes in through the garden door.) Appa! Appa! … (She breaks down sobbing as VIKRAM, SURESH and RADHA come running in through the inner door.)

THANGAM:

Sumati! What Amma! Sumati!

has

happened?

NARI enters in a rush through the garden door. He stops short. The light focusses on him. He is dishevelled, out of breath. VIKRAM:

You bastard! (Lunges SURESH restrains him.)

Blackout.

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forward.

As lights come on, the cast is seen assembling as if posing for a photograph. The movement is slow and deliberate, taking time as the poem is read. VOICE-OVER:(The women in the cast can read a verse each and come together in chorus for a part of the last verse.) As for women, the gods said let them be strong rooted, like trees. For it is they who shall hold the ends of the world together. And there will be storms and the wind will blow very strong but the women will stay, like trees, they will hold the world together. And there will be sport and play and soft voiced treachery and the music of deceit will call very strong. But the women will stay it is so decreed the women will stay like strong rooted trees;

128

they will stay and hold the ends of the world together. The cast exit as the last lines are heard. The stage is now bare. The cast assemble again in pairs — THANGAM with SREENI, VAIDEHI with NARI, SURESH with SUMATI, VIKRAM with RADHA. Blackout.

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Inner Laws 1994 Inner Laws was triggered by my feeling, at that time, that there were more talented and committed women actors in Bangalore than men and that it was possible to bring together a cast of ten women. The play exposes the traditional hostility between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law, a relationship born of the joint family system where two women, usually strangers to each other, are forced to share a home, a kitchen and, in a sense, the affections of the same man. What makes the hostility even more serious is my belief that many women actually prepare themselves for that antagonism, much before the marriage is arranged. And this has to be seen in the larger context of marriage negotiations and the ubiquitous dowry system. Inner Laws takes a deliberately light-hearted look at the relationship, rather than see it as a resolution defying flash point. It seems to me that an attitude of irreverence can lend perspective to a great many issues that plague us, including those that concern women. Apart from the central concern of the in-law relationship, therefore, the play ridicules other societal issues such as our approach to education and learning, our ludicrous notions of female attractiveness and absurd lifestyles. Newly evolving social mores are fostered by, and in turn generate, new business activities — the beauty, fashion and entertainment ‘industries’ that exploit women and

130

offer them a false definition of themselves. However, the play is not critical of any individual, the characters are only representative of a viewpoint, an argument, and the satire is not savage or destructive. I have tried, as Pope did so effectively, to ‘just hint a fault and hesitate dislike’. Inner Laws also makes multi-layered allusions to the Indian epics. While Laavanya and Mrs Hrimaan are entirely original characters — Laavanya means grace and Hrimaan stands for modesty — the names and histories of the other eight women have been taken from Sanskrit texts such as the Bhaagavatam, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Rugmini is Krishna’s wife and so daughter-in-law to the Queen Mother, Mrs Vasudev. Radha is Krishna’s childhood sweetheart and so has Mrs Nandan as mother-in-law. Chitra or Chitrangada marries Arjuna, the son of Pandu, and Urmila is the daughter-in-law of Dasarath who does not accompany her husband, Laxmana, when he opts to be exiled. The references are not central to the narrative but add a certain piquancy to the dramatic situation when the connections are made. The play ends on a note of optimism, what Kierkegaard has called ‘the passionate sense of potential’. I believe strongly that women can meet in peace and joy once they have shed their mawkish notions of themselves. Women share a robust, almost Rabelaisian sense of humour and, with their

131

natural predilection towards nurturing, can bring delight and celebration into their world. First performed 14 July 1996 Cast Mrs Hrimaan

Rajyashree Dutt

Laavanya (Vanya)

Kavitha Cardoza

Mrs Nandan

Kumuda Rao

Radha

Vani Krishnaswamy

Mrs Pandu

Poile Sengupta

Chitra

Meghna Abraham

Mrs Vasudev

Sunita Mirchandaney

Rugmini

Ranica Barua

Mrs Dasarath

Munira Sen

Urmila

Anasuya Krishnan

Sengupta/Sandhya

Crew Set design

Ashish Sen Bhuvarlal

Lights design

Anish Victor

Lights execution

Anish Victor Dominic Taylor

Make-up

Nani 132

Props

Aparna Devi Pratap K. Pavan

Sound

Sudhir Krishnaswamy

Costumes

Kirti Anand Susan Thomas

Stage crew

Madan Kumar Deepak Joseph Rajat Dasgupta

Music composed by Preetam Koilpillai Publicity

B. Sreenivas Murthy

Front of House

Dinesh Gupta Shyam K. Bhat

Production Manager Preetam Koilpillai Direction

Abhijit Sengupta

Assisted by

Preetam Koilpillai

Act 1 Scene 1. There are three acting areas in Act 1. Downstage right shows part of a sparse but elegantly set up room. Downstage left is another living area, inelegant but displaying signs of newly acquired wealth. A large couch is the prominent feature here. Next to it is a table laid out for a fancy meal. Centre stage is a small seating area with a

133

table on which are placed a telephone and a bowl of flowers. The scene opens with a spot on MRS HRIMAAN centre stage and darkness beyond. MRS HRIMAAN:

(Calls.) Laavanya! O Laavanya! Where are you? Vanya, are you home?

VANYA:

(Off.) Mum? Oh, you are back? Gosh! I must have dozed off. What time is it?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Nearly time for tea. Come now, you can sleep again in eighty six thousand, four hundred … well, in about in five and a half hours.

VANYA:

(Off.) Oh Mum, must you be so hung up on arithmetic? Anyway, I wasn’t actually sleeping. I was just dreaming.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Just what?

VANYA:

Dreaming.

MRS HRIMAAN:

About what?

VANYA:

Oh, Mum! You know about what …

MRS HRIMAAN:

Well, it’s only … let me see … three thousand eight hundred and twenty two minutes since you went to see the gynaecologist …

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VANYA:

(Enters.) Mum! You are hopeless. Maths isn’t really your strong point. Do you know how many hours that makes?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Not really. It sounds grand though, doesn’t it? Come, let’s have tea. I’m so thirsty after all the talking I had to listen to. And you, my girl, should take nourishment as often as possible.

VANYA:

(Teasing.) Does this mean you are not interested in what happened this morning?

MRS HRIMAAN:

(Playing the game.) This morning? What happened this morning? Oh, I remember. You went to the doctor … no … that was yesterday … Three thousand eight hundred … This morning? What did happen this morning?

VANYA:

You don’t remember?

MRS HRIMAAN:

No I don’t.

VANYA:

(Giving up.) Mum! You know what I am talking about. The meeting!

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh, the meeting! The one you were invited to, by the lady in the bank! The members of the DIL club! … So did you find out what the club is for? For

135

people with cardiac problems? Or for lonely hearts? VANYA:

Oh mom! It has nothing to do with hearts at all. It has nothing to do, even remotely, with affection. D..I..L.. stands for daughters-in-law.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh! That’s interesting! And what do the club members do?

VANYA:

They talk … and they talk and they …

MRS HRIMAAN:

… Talk. But about what?

VANYA:

What else do daughters-in-law talk about, other than their mothers-in-law?

Fade out. Lights downstage right. URMILA, CHITRA, RUGMINI and RADHA are seen talking. VANYA appears at the edge of the lighted area and stands unseen by the others. RUGMINI:

Mothers-in-law! Can anyone tell me why God made mothers-in-law? I mean, I do sometimes understand why he made husbands. But mothers-in-law! Pah! I tell you, my mother-inlaw is as useful as a condom in a nunnery.

136

RADHA:

Chee! What language! (Giggles.)

RUGMINI:

Take this morning, for instance. My mother-inlaw stations herself in the middle of the sofa and starts crying and sobbing as if her heart would break. And of course her dear son has to stop eating his breakfast and get off his chair and come up to her and give her a big hug and ask her, ‘What is the matter, Barbie?’

CHITRA:

Barbie?

RUGMINI:

Haven’t I told you the famous story? No …? Well, apparently my father-in-law had once told her that she reminded him of a Barbie doll. So since then, everyone, including her son, has to call her Barbie …. But I have a different theory about that story.

URMILA:

What’s your theory?

RUGMINI:

I think my father-in-law actually said that she reminded him of barbed wire …

CHITRA:

Good one! Barbie … barbed wire. Applies to the original too, actually.

URMILA:

(To RUGMINI.) Was your mother-in-law on the same fixation?

137

RUGMINI:

Oh yes, the same one. What would happen if she was arrested on charges of smuggling and put all alone into a prison cell and the jailor came on a dark and stormy night and tried to … you know …

CHITRA:

(Stiffly.) We have women wardens for our women prisoners.

RUGMINI:

Yeah, you and I know that, but do you think my mother-in-law will accept it? Reality of the practical kind doesn’t exist for her. In her fantasy, the jailer is a cross between Superman drunk and King Kong sober.

URMILA:

Ah! A selective memory! It’s typical of that age.

RUGMINI:

So she sits there sobbing and crying and ruining her son’s shirt and saying, ‘If this bad man comes anywhere near me you will rescue me, won’t you? You won’t let him do anything bad to me? You promise, you promise? You won’t leave me in the jail? Say promise.’

URMILA:

The Sita syndrome. Very typical.

RUGMINI:

The dear darling son, like all dear darling sons in soap operas, then promises that he will personally take a Mercedes or a Rolls Royce to the 138

above mentioned jail and rescue her with his own bare hands. RADHA:

Putra uvacha! The son speaks …

RUGMINI:

O mother mine! My darling one and only progenitor …

URMILA:

… You are the guilt complex I adore …

CHITRA:

… For you will I fight and shed villainous blood …

RADHA:

… So don’t be crying anymore …

RUGMINI:

Anymore …

CHITRA AND URMILA together: An…y…m…ore..! VANYA laughs loudly and steps forward. VANYA:

Hi!

RUGMINI:

Oh, hello! I’m glad you decided to come. Girls … this is Laavanya Hrimaan … she came to the bank yesterday. She is new here … so I asked her to join us …

RADHA:

You have told her?

RUGMINI:

Only a little bit. I wanted you all to see her first.

CHITRA:

Hm. Looks okay.

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URMILA:

I can see an underlying layer of palpable tension. Have you just got married?

VANYA:

It will be seven months the day after tomorrow.

URMILA:

Thought so. You are suffering from acute post marital anxiety. You show unmistakable signs of nervous impairment and verbal regression.

VANYA:

Oh, I didn’t know I showed all that.

URMILA:

You are not supposed to know you show it. If you did, why have Freud?

CHITRA:

Do you want to join us?

VANYA:

I suppose so. I … I … was just wondering, though, what the club was about.

CHITRA:

Club! Tchah! It’s much more than a club. It’s a survival kit.

RADHA:

It is trade union like.

RUGMINI:

It’s a forum where we ventilate our innermost feelings.

URMILA:

It is our safety valve. The reason for our sanity.

CHITRA:

It stands for Freedom! For Liberty! It’s our call to Sisterhood! … Join us

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… all you newly wed girls with mothers-in-law … join us … join our call…. Say it with me…. Down with reactionaries! Away with our suppressors! Our repressors! Our oppressors! Our depressors! ALL TOGETHER:

Our mothers-in-law!

VANYA:

(Nervously.) I … I don’t quite know … in fact, my mother-in-law and I … (Stops in time.) I … I wouldn’t mind joining but what do I have to do?

RUGMINI:

You have the basic qualification, don’t you?

VANYA:

What is that?

CHITRA:

A mother-in-law.

VANYA:

Yes, I suppose so. I … I mean, yes, I do.

RADHA:

And you are married lesser than one year, you told.

VANYA:

Seven months the day after …

URMILA:

Right! Then proceedings.

VANYA:

Proceedings?

RADHA:

She is meaning interview, like for job.

141

we

can

start

RUGMINI:

It’s a mere questions.

formality.

A

few

RUGMINI, CHITRA, URMILA and RADHA arrange themselves to interview a rather nervous VANYA. CHITRA:

Age?

VANYA:

Twenty-five.

RADHA:

Twenty-five? She’s telling lies also?

VANYA:

(Puzzled.) Lies? But I am twenty-five.

RADHA:

Chee! Not you. We are asking about your MIL only.

VANYA:

MIL?

RUGMINI:

Mother-in-law. MIL is mother-in-law.

VANYA:

Oh! I thought you were asking for my age. My mother-in … my MIL is about fifty or so, I think.

CHITRA:

(To URMILA who is filling up the form.) Add another five years to that…. Next question…. Sex?

VANYA:

Sex? …

URMILA:

That’s right. Sex.

VANYA:

Sorry, I don’t quite understand … do you mean sex as in gender or sex as in … as in… sex?

URMILA:

(Swiftly.) Both. 142

VANYA:

Well, I am female as you can see and …

RUGMINI:

(In a slow, measured way.) Laavanya, listen to me…. This questionnaire is only about your mother-in-law. It has nothing to do with you, understand? All the questions pertain to your mother-in-law.

VANYA:

But it’s not my mother-in-law who is joining the club, it’s me. Why do you want to know about her?

RADHA:

When you, Laavanya, go to hotel, what you ask? You ask what type of food you get in that place, is it not? Chinese, Indian, Continent, etc. But why you should ask about cook? You will not ask about cook’s height, weight, family background, etc. is it not?

URMILA:

In a layperson’s language, we want to document the emotional causations and the subtle aspects of the non-genetic, environmental, ideational transmission that occurs at the crucial juncture of …

CHITRA:

To cut it short, what we want is information. Information about the mother-in-law side, the enemy camp.

143

RUGMINI:

And relax! This information will not be used against you, believe me.

VANYA:

But … but isn’t it possible that some MILs, I mean mothers-in-law can be quite … you know … quite nice?

Stunned silence. RADHA:

She got deliria or what?

RUGMINI:

(Fussily.) It must be the sun. Do you want to lie down for a while? Here. Sit down here and put your feet up. Do you want some water?

URMILA and CHITRA whisper furtively to each other. VANYA:

No … no … I’m fine. I really am.

CHITRA:

Hm … Urmila and I feel that it is vital that we test the recruit. Make sure that she is not part of a security infiltration.

URMILA:

A fifth columnist. A Trojan horse.

RADHA:

You can’t see or what? She is not horse. She is spy.

VANYA:

No, I really am not a Tro … not anything like that. I was just trying not to generalise … I know that we Indian girls take it for granted that our mothers-in … our MILs … are going to

144

be hostile to us. I was just trying to be fair. RADHA:

(Bustling up.) You want farity? I will tell you farity. I will tell what what happened in my house today morning … (Pushing VANYA into position.) Now you are me, Radha, alright? … You sit like this … head must be down … soft voice also … I am my MIL, alright? I will sit here, like Sessions Judge…. Now ask … in soft voice alright, ask, ‘What you will have for sweet today, Amma?’ Ask …

VANYA:

What you will have for sweet today, Amma?

RADHA:

Good! Like that! (Clearing throat, then speaking in a high-pitched tone.) Sweet? What sweet? (In own voice.) Now tell, ‘What you will like for desert, Amma?’ In soft, very soft voice.

VANYA:

What will Amma?

RADHA:

Desert, desert.

VANYA:

Desert, Amma?

RADHA:

(High-pitched.) ‘Desert? When you have given me desert? You call water mixed with one spoon sugar desert? No ghee, no butter, no vanaspati

you

145

have

for

dessert,

even.’ (In own voice, pushing VANYA out of the way.) But Amma, doctor said no. It is bad for heart. (In MIL’s voice.) ‘What doctor? That boy who comes, he is doctor? He does not have moustache or beard.’ (In own voice.) He is very good specialiscist. Best in city. (In MIL’s voice.) ‘Alright, alright, leave me. In one two days, I will close eyes. But my son … you will not give him food also … no rice … just dry wheat chapatti … and only vegetables … boiled, boiled, boiled … the boy working so hard morning to night … but you rakshasi … you giving him prison food, convict food ….’ CHITRA:

(Stiffly.) Our undertrials are served excellent, balanced meals.

RADHA:

(In own voice.) But Amma he is in diet. Doctor has told. (In MIL’s voice.) ‘What doctor knows? Doctor has carried baby in stomach for nine months? Doctor with no moustache, no beard? And you stupid girl, thinking he is god … what you know … my son is god, not that good-for-nothing doctor.’

URMILA:

Ah! Typical. Statistics show that 95.6 per cent of adult Indian males think they are God. And consequently, they also suffer from the Madonna malady.

146

VANYA:

The Madonna malady? What’s that?

URMILA:

These 95.6 per cent adult Indian males, who have the Madonna complex, think their mothers are virgins.

CHITRA:

(Thumping on table.) Business. Back to business. You, Laavanya! Can you give us an instance in the recent past, concerning your mother-in-law, which will convince us that you have not been sent here as an informer?

RUGMINI:

Something like what Radha demonstrated. Something simple …

URMILA:

But typical …

VANYA:

Well, I … let me see … (Making up furiously.) I was taking the clothes off the line … the washing line … and my husband’s clothes were still wet … so I left them there and brought in my clothes and she said … she said I was very selfish … bringing in only my clothes and not his ….

Silence. RADHA:

Chee! That’s all?

CHITRA:

Not good enough.

URMILA:

Deficient in the extreme.

147

VANYA:

(Hastily.) No, that’s only the beginning. She went on after that. She said I had a criminal mind …

CHITRA:

That you should be charged under section 336 IPC?

VANYA:

IPC?

CHITRA:

The Indian Penal Code. Section 336 deals with criminal negligence. Act endangering life or personal property of others.

VANYA:

I think that is what she wanted to say but she did not know the section …

RUGMINI:

Did she also say that your housekeeping accounts made her laugh and cry and go to the bathroom at the same time?

VANYA:

Yes.

URMILA:

That your verbal output shows that your mentality is that of a three-year-old with a TV–cum-potato chip-cum-tomato chilli sauce fixation?

VANYA:

Y…yes.

RADHA:

That when you make puri, it is like cardboard and when you knit sweater, it comes out like halva?

VANYA:

Yes … But … Yes …

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Fade out. Spot centre stage on LAAVANYA and MRS HRIMAAN, the latter amused. VANYA:

Yes… I had to say it. I had to say yes. I had to say all kinds of lies about you.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Of course you had to … it was peer pressure after all, as your Urmila would have said … and I do happen to be your mother-in-law.

VANYA:

(Suddenly serious.) Even so, I did feel pretty awful. But Mom, what else could I do? They are my age more or less, and it’s such a small town, I’m sure I’ll keep bumping into them all the time. I can’t afford to be … to be hoitytoity.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Don’t feel so bad, Vanya sweetheart. I had a bad time too. At this lunch meeting I was invited for. Phew! The things I had to hear …!

Fade out. Lights downstage left. MRS NANDAN is seen reclining on the couch, yawning. MRS HRIMAAN enters upstage left.

149

MRS HRIMAAN:

May I come in? I am Mrs Hrimaan. Mrs Pandu asked me here. There was to be a meeting or something.

MRS NANDAN:

(In a faint, invalid voice.) Yes. Yes. The others will be here soon. Please sit down. I am Mrs Nandan…. Do you want some water or something?

MRS HRIMAAN:

No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.

MRS NANDAN:

(Alert.) That is not a good sign. My doctor says we should feel thirsty every two hours and ten minutes, otherwise there is something wrong. Before my heart attack, I never used to feel thirsty.

MRS HRIMAAN:

I’m sorry to hear you’ve had a heart attack. When did this happen? Are you alright now?

MRS NANDAN:

How I can be alright? I live with my daughter-in-law, is it not?

MRS HRIMAAN:

I don’t understand. What has your daughter-in-law to do …?

MRS NANDAN:

(Confidentially.) I will tell you. You know what she wants? She wants me to have another heart attack.

MRS HRIMAAN:

What!

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MRS NANDAN:

You do not know her … she is a rakshasi. You know what she asked me just today morning? She asked me what sweet I wanted for lunch. Sweet, mind you, when she knows I am not supposed to touch sweets. Chronic diabetes. My doctor has said that even if I look at a mysore pak, I can die.

MRS HRIMAAN:

But …

MRS NANDAN:

She is very clever, very, very clever. In front of my son, she gives me dry chapatti, boiled vegetables, no butter, no ghee … just the right sort of diet …. what the doctor has subscribed … She gives my son the same food also because he … poor boy … also has some heart problems. He does not like it but what to do? In his own way he is happy … he thinks he has such a good wife, a wife who cares so much for my and his health. But when his back is turned … what does she do? She starts off …‘You want sweet Amma? Shall I make neiappam today? You want paayasam?’

MRS HRIMAAN:

But she knows what the doctor has said and in spite of that she …

151

MRS NANDAN:

You don’t understand her game? She wants me to go, you realise that? She wants me to go permanently so that she can take my non-stick. She has her eye on that for a long, long time … my non-stick. My husband got it from America after I had my heart attack. You think I will give it to her? Humph. Never.

Silence. MRS NANDAN:

And another thing. She pretends to be old-fashioned, as if she has just come from the village. You see, my son wants to become a politician, so he got married to tradition type girl. Oily hair, not good in English, rural type. But she, abba, she is overdoing it so much that if he becomes minister, his portfolio will only be animal husbandary!

Talking off stage. Enter MRS PANDU, MRS VASUDEV and MRS DASARATH carrying covered dishes. MRS PANDU:

Mrs Nandan, sorry, hum late ho gaye. We all met in my house and came. Mrs Hrimaan? Namaste, namaste. I am Mrs Pandu, we talked phone par. Hum bahut happy

152

hain ki you have come. Let me introduce … this is Mrs Dasarath, aap hain Mrs Vasudev, you have already met Mrs Nandan … Mrs Hrimaan has come with her son jiska idhar transfer hua hai. MRS VASUDEV:

You have a daughter-in-law?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Yes, I have a very sweet …

MRS NANDAN:

Sweet? Don’t talk of sweets. I am fed up. You know what happened today morning? She started off again, ‘What sweet you want, Amma? What …’

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Nandan, this jabardast giving you sweets, I don’t like. Main bilkul like nahi karti.

MRS VASUDEV:

(Sobbing.) I see it all. Her daughter-in-law wants to make her lie in a hospital bed, unconscious, with her head tied up in white bandages and then we will all go and see her and she won’t be able to talk and the doctor will be a cruel man full of lust and he will …

MRS DASARATH:

Oh, don’t say that, Mrs Vasudev. Mrs Nandan is so sweet. After all,

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you can’t kill two birds with one heart attack. MRS NANDAN:

What are you saying about doctors, Mrs Vasudev? You don’t know my doctor. He’s a gentleman’s gentleman.

MRS HRIMAAN:

But a gentleman’s gentleman is a valet …

MRS PANDU:

And how is your bahu, Mrs Hrimaan? Aasmaan help you if she is anything like meri wali. Mine is IPS, police officer. Samajhti hai that the whole world has to go her rules ke mutabik. (Stands up, demonstrates.) Mother-in-law, left right, left right, mother-in-law … daaye mudh … mother-in-law … eyes right … mother-in-law … halt … ek do teen ek.

MRS NANDAN:

Mrs Pandu, you will feel hungry after all that exercise. See, I have kept some special cheese for all of you on the table. My son got it from Switzerland, you know. He went there for three weeks on a special mission, to find out how they edaricated malaria from that country.

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MRS DASARATH:

How cute! But sometimes I don’t understand my daughter-in-law at all. I suppose she is very clever…. You know Mrs Hrimaan, she is always talking about … about … what husbands and wives do in the bedroom … you know … that thing…. She is so strange … she says that I too am thinking about it all the time…. Can you imagine that? When I put on my make-up, she says I am trying to attract men…. But why should I do that? I am a widow …!

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Nandan, you also thoda sa khaayiye naa.

MRS NANDAN:

Please, all of you eat…. But don’t ask me to eat. I can’t eat anything on that table, nothing that my son brings…. What a good son, I have. He is a paramatman, a god …. Why I agreed to his marriage with that she-devil …. They used to play together as children … she got her hooks into him when they were in LKG.

MRS VASUDEV:

(To MRS HRIMAAN.) She is so lucky, Mrs Nandan, that’s what I keep telling her. At least her son allowed her to arrange his marriage.

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Do you know what mine did? He said he was going on tour for two days, and then after two days, he comes back with this girl and says they are married. She eloped with him, can you imagine? Eloped! What kind of a girl is she? What is her family background? (Sobs.) And I wanted such a fine wedding for my only son. I wanted it in a seven-star hotel, near the Arabian sea with a rainbow in the sky and a helicopter pad and big cut-outs of the bride and groom and … MRS DASARATH:

Mrs Vasudev, how imaginative you are! I could never even think of all that. I am so simple … I am like Mother Teresa actually, a people’s person. Do you know why I welcomed my daughter-in-law when I first saw her, Mrs Hrimaan? Because her cousin, who is married to my sister’s son, is such a sweet girl. Such a sweet girl. She has gone off to Africa with my nephew. To the bush, you know. She said if he had to sleep on thorns, she also would sleep on thorns. So cute, isn’t it? My son has gone with them too. He’s a sociologist, you know. So sweet!

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MRS PANDU:

Mrs Nandan, yeh sweetsour waali food main bahut like karti hoon. Isme khatta fifty hai and meetha forty-five.

MRS DASARATH:

But did my daughter-in-law go with my son? No, she did not. She stayed here, sleeping on a foam mattress and eating good food …. You know what she said today, Mrs Pandu? So strange! She said I should get married again!

MMES PANDU, VASUDEV, NANDAN (Together.): Wh..a..t! MRS DASARATH:

She says I should not think of clothes and hair and my complexion all the time …. She’s so funny! What else should women think about? … So she wants me to put an ad in the marriage column of the papers.

MRS PANDU:

Yeh toh bahut bada cheek hai!

MRS VASUDEV:

Please, Mrs Dasarath, please don’t get married again. (Sobbing.) Do you know what will happen if you marry a divorcee? He will definitely be unfaithful to you, I can guarantee you that. He will have an affair with his first wife. He will go to a hotel with her and book a single room 157

with a double bed and say that it is a business meeting. But you know what business it will be! MRS DASARATH:

Mrs Vasudev, you are so sweet. Don’t worry, I won’t get fooled like that. After all, a man and his dhoti are soon parted…. Oh, what a nice chutney! Did your daughter-in-law make this, Mrs Vasudev?

MRS VASUDEV:

My daughter-in-law? My daughter-in-law in the kitchen! (Sniffing.) I’ve told you, she can’t even boil a banana. If I have to go to hospital, she will make me eat that horrible hospital food which will come in a trolley and the food server will be a kidnapper and he will …

MRS PANDU:

Bas! Bas! That will do. We can’t let our bahus rule over us like this. Yeh bahut hi bad baat hai.

MRS DASARATH:

You are right. After all, honesty is only a policy.

MRS NANDAN:

So what should we do?

MRS PANDU:

Make plans! We will teach them a accha lesson. So they will keep their mouths shut. Give us some izzat.

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MRS DASARATH:

Oh, how sweet! I love making plans, don’t you Mrs Hrimaan? Plans are so cute! Shall we start?

Fade out. Stage centre lights up. MRS HRIMAAN and LAAVANYA in close conversation. MRS HRIMAAN:

They were still plotting against their daughters-in-law when I left them. Plotting and planning. Of course, none of them would agree to anything anybody else said and, in between, Mrs Nandan would talk of her heart attack, and Mrs Dasarath would say, ‘How sweet! How cute!’ and Mrs Pandu would shake her head vehemently in English and Hindi and Mrs Vasudev would start sobbing out the plot of another soap opera.

VANYA:

What fun! I wish I could meet them!

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh, you can’t! You cannot meet them! They have some bizarre law about it!

VANYA:

A law?

MRS HRIMAAN:

A really bizarre one. None of them are supposed to meet the others’ daughters-in-law.

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VANYA:

Oh, so that’s why the DILs were so cagey! I can’t believe this. And why such a law?

MRS HRIMAAN:

I really couldn’t make that out. The weddings were around the same time, but were held in other towns, at the brides’ places.

VANYA:

Of course. And one elopement, in any case.

MRS HRIMAAN:

That’s right. And I think it was she set the trend, Mrs Vasudev. She was so angry with her son and her daughter-in-law, more with the daughter-in-law actually, she did not give a party for the newly-weds. So neither did the others. And then they must have decided that it was better not to meet any of the daughters-in-law at all.

VANYA:

And so, the daughters-in-law also refuse to meet the friends of their mothers-in-law.

MRS HRIMAAN:

I don’t blame them.

VANYA:

I do. I find it very tiresome. Their lives are so artificial. Like a cheap spy thriller. (Demonstrates.) Mother-in-law in sight! Beware! Mother-in-law in view! Lie down, get down, quick! 160

was

an

Duck! Cover face! Watch for the bullets. Bang! Bangbang! MRS HRIMAAN:

(Helps LAAVANYA up, pauses.) You think the whole thing is because there is no other excitement in their lives?

VANYA:

You mean that’s the reason for this mutual warfare? Could be. There doesn’t seem to be much excitement to be got from the men, anyway. They seem to be just money-making yuppies, not seen till after dark.

MRS HRIMAAN:

What about starting a family? Haven’t your girls thought of that?

VANYA:

Oh, they’ve have decided to be very modern and not have babies till they are forty-eight or something. And so you see they have to think up all kinds of drama to keep themselves going.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Drama! You should see Mrs Vasudev for drama! She gets me on my nerves, she really does … I honestly think she needs psychiatric treatment. Otherwise she could …

VANYA:

(Wildly excited.) Wait! What did you say? Psychiatric treatment … psychiatry …! I’ve got an idea! A wonderful idea! A marvellous idea! A super-duper idea!

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MRS HRIMAAN:

Vanya, stop shrieking like that and tell me! What is the idea?

VANYA:

Listen! We are both tired of the attitudes these women have towards each other?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Yes.

VANYA:

We believe mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law can live reasonably civilised lives with each other?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Yes, definitely.

VANYA:

And you will do anything for this cause?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Yes … I mean … hold on! What do you mean anything?

VANYA:

I mean work, struggle, put all our energies into it.

MRS HRIMAAN:

I suppose so. I suppose we can. But you are making it sound like a political manifesto … an ideology.

VANYA:

That’s what it is, an ideology … Mom, you remember that patriarch, MCP uncle of yours? The one who used to say something that made you so angry? About women not being able to work together?

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MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh, oh yes. He used to say, two heads, that is two men, can always work together in peace. But two pairs of breasts! Oh, two pairs of breasts will definitely get into a fight.

VANYA:

What a damnable sexist remark!

MRS HRIMAAN:

I agree. But what has that to do with …

VANYA:

That’s the idea I’ve got. Listen! None of the women know what the others’ mothers-in-law or daughters-in-law look like, right?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Right.

VANYA:

So what we do is organise a way in which they meet and help each other out, without knowing whom they are helping.

MRS HRIMAAN:

What, what, what, what, what?

VANYA:

(Laughing.) It’s quite simple. Take Mrs Vasudev. You say a session with a psychiatrist will help her get over her various phobiums or phobia or whatever?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh yes. Just one session will do. Just one session with a psychiatrist who uses a hard broom! 163

VANYA:

Right! So who do I have in the DIL group but a qualified psychiatrist! Urmila!

MRS HRIMAAN:

I think I am beginning to see …. We get these two together without their realising who the other is.

VANYA:

That’s right. They hold their session in a neutral place, maybe here … yes, we’ll have to get them to our house …. Mrs Vasudev gets less tiresome, Rugmini is happy …

MRS HRIMAAN:

The other mothers-in-law are happy …

VANYA:

And at a suitable moment, we reveal who effected the cure …

MRS HRIMAAN:

And Urmila’s mother-in-law is very proud of her daughter-in-law, and makes much of her. It seems a good idea!

VANYA:

And simple, isn’t it?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Y … yes. It seems pretty simple. But these things have a way of going out of hand, you know …. For instance, how do we make them come to our place?

VANYA pauses to think.

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VANYA:

Easy! You tell Mrs Vasudev that you need her help with me. That I need to be educated in some way …

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh, so she’ll think Urmila is you?

VANYA:

Right! And Urmila will think Mrs Vasudev is you, my mother-in-law. I will tell her that I am awfully worried about your mental health, that I’m frightened that you are going bonkers … she’ll love that …

MRS HRIMAAN:

I’m sure she will. And I’ll tell Mrs Vasudev that I think there is something radically wrong with you … you don’t watch any TV programmes …

VANYA:

(Excited.) Yes. Yes. Tell her that since I never listen to you, maybe she can help, she has to help …

MRS HRIMAAN:

I’m sure she will…. But can’t we do something about the others too? That Mrs Dasarath. My god! Such elegant dullness!

VANYA:

Mom! Don’t worry. We’ll get her to be more spirited too. And while we try and think of ways to improve her, she can groom our police officer, make her look a little more feminine! But Mum, everything will have to be done 165

slowly, one by one so that nobody suspects anything … MRS HRIMAAN:

You are sure this will work? I mean, I am getting a little apprehensive.

VANYA:

Mom, it will work wonderfully! Come, let’s get cracking. First of all, we have to call Urmila and Mrs Vasudev …

MRS HRIMAAN:

You think they will agree individually, without letting the others know? I don’t think they will.

VANYA:

(A long whistle.) No … they won’t. You are right. These girls are very strong on the solidarity stuff.

MRS HRIMAAN:

So are my girls!

VANYA:

No problem! We will call emergency meetings of the two groups and sob out our respective lies and see what they say …. We will, of course use rather strong pressure tactics and make them agree to do this reformation programme slowly, over a few weeks, one pair at a time.

MRS HRIMAAN:

They will love the idea of the programme, I can guarantee that. I can just see them wanting to reform you …

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VANYA:

I can imagine the DILs licking their lips too … Won’t it all be fun?

End of Scene 1. Scene 2. Next afternoon. Same sets as before. Only the dining table, downstage left, is bare. As scene opens, CHITRA is seen making arrangements for the meeting downstage right. Enter RADHA, very excited. RADHA:

So nice we can keep front door open in this place without any fear. I am so excited I must go to bathroom first. Urgent!

Exits as URMILA and RUGMINI enter. RUGMINI:

Emergency! That’s what she said when she called last night. Just that! Emergency!

CHITRA:

Same with me. She seemed almost frightened of something. As if she was looking over her shoulder all the time.

URMILA:

Deep-seated anxiety. The Pandora phobia!

RUGMINI:

The Pandora phobia! What’s that?

URMILA:

Pandora was forbidden to open that box, wasn’t she? But curiosity got the better of her and she did open it. She

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must have been looking over her shoulder all the time in case somebody was watching her. CHITRA:

So what kind of evils has our friend Laavanya let out, do you think?

RUGMINI:

Mother-in-law evils presumably. I’m sure that’s what …

Enter RADHA, talking. RADHA:

… And she is only saying, ‘Go. Where you want to go, go.’ And she is not sleeping on sofa also … she is throwing away cushions … and she is not asking hundred thousand questions like income tax people …

RUGMINI:

My MIL was acting strange too. She has used only one box of tissues since the morning and she did not cry at all at her favourite time, just as I get back from the bank …

CHITRA:

Do you know what mine did? She actually said she was going to be late back from work. Usually she sits here checking up on what time I come back. Like a policeman.

RADHA:

But you are policeman also, no? So how can one policeman …

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URMILA:

You should have seen the display exhibited by my so-called surrogate mother…. Extra war paint on the face, fingernails ready for battle, hair carefully styled to shield the head from attack …

Discernible sounds of someone’s emotional arrival. CHITRA, URMILA, RADHA and RUGMINI arrange their faces as LAAVANYA enters, suitably distraught, not even carefully dressed. RUGMINI:

Oh my dear, please sit down, please sit. Has she been that bad?

VANYA:

It’s been terrible! You can’t imagine how terrible. You have to help me.

CHITRA:

Anything we can do, just ask.

URMILA:

Our paramedical support system is excellent. We are ready to assist you over any emotional trauma that …

RADHA:

Any time, night or day. But only night time, you must phone before ten-thirty. That is when my Mr is having glass of milk and talking, etc. After that, he is closing bedroom door, you know …

VANYA:

You are all so kind, so very kind. When I came alone and anxious to this town as a newly-wed, I never thought …

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URMILA:

What, exactly, is the trouble?

VANYA:

Well, I … don’t know how to say it … I …

CHITRA:

Nothing you say within these four walls will be used against you in a court of law …

RADHA:

It is only one … two … three walls, but still …

RUGMINI:

Come on Laavanya, if you don’t tell us, how can we help you?

VANYA:

Well … she has been acting very strange … she has been carrying a paan tied up in her sari pallu the last few days …

RUGMINI:

A paan? Just the betel leaf or …

VANYA:

A made-up paan. Banarasi saada …. And I found her reading a book about Indian sorceresses … and hiding it when I came into the room …

URMILA:

Do you suspect that she believes you are supernaturally malignant?

RUGMINI:

In short, does she think you are a sorceress, a witch?

VANYA:

She looks at me very suspiciously on full moon nights.

URMILA:

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(Taking notes.) Hm. Typical. It’s a case of the Julia Caesar jitters … VANYA:

The Julia Caesar jitters?

URMILA:

That’s what it is called when women in authority listen to ideas in March …. Is she transfixed by images? Does she hallucinate?

Pause. RADHA:

Tell no, Laavanya … does she loocinate? No need for shyness … everybody goes to bathroom many times …

VANYA:

Well … yesterday … and this is what scared me so much, she suddenly fell at my feet …

RUGMINI:

What?

VANYA:

She fell at my feet and began counting my toes.

RADHA:

You did not feel tickly?

VANYA:

Then she got up and muttered, ‘I was right. She does have eleven toes.’… But that may be because she is also very bad in arithmetic. Her maths is so bad that the dhobi is threatening a law suit. Oh, what do I do?

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CHITRA:

(Briskly.) No problem. We’ll all help. Rugmini will take care of the maths. And even without your telling me, I have also decided what to do. I shall give her a stiff course in body toning. Aerobics.

VANYA:

Wait! I thought only Urmila should meet her now … for the first session. To get her out of this phobia of hers, you know. The rest of you can go one by one later, I thought. And physically, she is very well. She does yoga and …

CHITRA:

Rubbish. Yoga is a lazy person’s name for exercise. A couple of sessions with me and all this phobia and trauma will fly out of the window. A healthy mind in a healthy body.

RADHA:

And what should I be doing? Can I be teaching her knitting? No, no. That is not enough. Don’t worry … I will think of some one thing.

VANYA:

But listen. I don’t think you should all start straightaway…. She is a very cranky woman, you know …

CHITRA:

That’s the best thing to do. Attack her from all sides. She will become a changed person within a week.

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URMILA:

I agree. Plunge her into the deep end. It will be a complete immersion programme.

VANYA:

But I still don’t think starting together is a good idea … Please listen … please …

URMILA:

(Ignoring her plea completely.) Now, Laavanya, I want more data. You have to tell me exactly when and how this psychological disturbance started its manifestation. The documentation is very important.

RUGMINI:

And after that, I have a few questions too. I need to know what grade I should start at, whether to use an abacus or new maths or jump into Vedic methods or even Trachtenberg …

CHITRA:

And I better open the files where I keep all the exercise programme sheets and choose one best suited to her needs. She is about fifty, you said …

VANYA:

Yes … But … listen, are you … are you all really sure you really want to do this? … You are very busy people with jobs and … I … I didn’t want to impose on all of you in the beginning … I did not think …

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RUGMINI:

You have invested in us. We will not let you down.

URMILA:

The existence of a sympathetic bond between one oppressed individual and other oppressed individuals speaks creditably of a highly evolved community that …

CHITRA:

You have reached out to us. The sisterhood will not fail you.

RADHA:

Yes, yes. We are supporting and supporting. Like a bra.

VANYA:

But as I said, one at a time …

CHITRA:

Nothing doing! Sorry Laavanya, but this the way it should be done, this is the way the sisterhood works. Unless you want to withdraw your appeal …

Everyone turns to look accusingly at LAAVANYA. VANYA:

No. No, of course not.

CHITRA:

Right! Let’s get back to business! Girls, please tell Laavanya when you are free to do your respective workshops and please stick to it, don’t keep on changing and trying to adjust … Laavanya, I presume we are to meet your mother-in-law at your house. Can you give me the directions please …?

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RADHA:

Wait, wait. I am also wanting it …

URMILA:

Laavanya, after you finish with that, I will require you to furnish me with some more data. Please relate to me, in detail, the events that preceded …

VANYA:

(A last ditch effort.) I still think we should have only Urmila coming on the first day and the others can …

URMILA:

(Impatiently.) Laavanya, please attend to me. Now, when did your mother-in-law start manifesting …

Talking continues muted as lights dim. Lights upstage right. MRS DASARATH is seen consoling MRS HRIMAAN who is sobbing artistically. MRS DASARATH:

Now, now, Mrs Hrimaan, don’t give way to your nerves. It will only make your eyes red and your nose shiny and then where will we be? With a bad complexion, that’s where. Sit up, sit up, wipe your face…. Now, tell me, what has actually happened? Come, tell me …

MRS HRIMAAN:

She has been acting like this ever since …

MRS DASARATH:

Wait! Wait! Here, here is dear Mrs Nandan with a nice glass of water. 175

(Enter MRS NANDAN.) You tell your story to her also…. Sit up, my dear … take a sip of nice hot water … it’s good for your throat … that’s a good child …. MRS NANDAN:

This is zero bacteria hot water. I drink only this after my heart attack, sometimes plain and sometimes with one drop of decoction, coffee decoction. My doctor always says water is the root of all diseases…. How are you feeling now, Mrs Hrimaan? The palpilitations have gone?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Thank you, I am feeling much better. But what should I do with my daughter-in-law? She …

MRS DASARATH:

Wait! Wait! I can see dear Mrs Pandu coming. She should hear the story too, isn’t it?

Enter MRS PANDU with a large set of notebooks. MRS PANDU:

Main direct school se aayee. Mrs Nandan, you are not lying down? Aap ki tabeeyat is alright?

MRS NANDAN:

How can I be ever alright again after my massive heart attack? But Mrs Hrimaan had so much palpilitation, so much palpilitation that I went

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inside and got water. Mrs Dasarath also came by that time. MRS PANDU:

Ohho, Mrs Hrimaan, why are you crying? We are all here aapko madat dene. Now, you tell us sab kuch. Ek cheez bhi don’t leave out. We are also suffering, aap jaise, is it not? We are all in the same boat, in the very same nauka …

MRS HRIMAAN:

Thank you. Thank you so much. Shall I start now …? You see, she has been acting like this since …

MRS DASARATH:

Wait! I can see dear Mrs Vasudev at the gate. Let her hear the story too. Wipe your left cheek, my dear. That’s better. After all, half a face is better than no face at all.

Enter MRS VASUDEV. MRS VASUDEV:

I’m sorry I’m late. But I did not like the face of the new driver my husband has got. He looks just like that second husband in Helpless Housewives … that serial in Scar TV … Oh, Mrs Hrimaan, how is that cruel daughter-in-law of yours? How did she let you out today?

MRS HRIMAAN:

It has not reached that stage yet…. But it soon will, I’m sure.

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MRS PANDU:

Bas, bas. No crying. Tell us now. What happened?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Well, it started from the day of the wedding. She refused to wear any make-up for the reception. She said she hated wearing anything that is artificial…. And now, she won’t let me go to the beauty parlour either … she has thrown away all my lipsticks …

MRS DASARATH:

This is too much! It is quite criminal, if you ask me.

MRS PANDU:

Han, han. What else?

MRS DASARATH:

This itself is so bad! Imagine telling a sweet lady like Mrs Hrimaan not to go the beauty parlour. And what about your daughter-in-law’s complexion? Does she look after it?

MRS HRIMAAN:

No! She doesn’t care about it at all. When she goes out with my son, she looks as if she has just washed the dog.

MRS DASARATH:

Mrs Pandu, this is really terrible. I must get some of my own special face pack and use it on her and …

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MRS PANDU:

We will think of remedies baad mein. Let us hear some more now…. Kahiye, Mrs Hrimaan …

MRS HRIMAAN:

The other thing is her cooking. It is so bad that … well, I hardly eat these days … but my poor son! He comes back tired from work and he takes one look at the food and says that he has had dinner in the office itself. What will happen to his health at this rate?

MRS NANDAN:

Ah! I know all types of diets … I will …

MRS PANDU:

Thahariye, Mrs Nandan. One minute please. Mrs Hrimaan, what about her general education (Pronounces ‘d’ as ‘j’.)? Mujhe lagta hai that she is not well-educated.

MRS HRIMAAN:

She has done her MPhil in English Literature from …

MRS PANDU:

Samjhi! Samjhi! So she does not know any conversation English, hai na?

MRS VASUDEV:

What about her knowledge of other things … like TV programmes?

MRS HRIMAAN:

That is the worst thing in her, the very worst. She never watches TV, can you imagine? My son has

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installed cable TV, bought a foreign VCR, but she says TV programmes and video films are all rubbish. MRS VASUDEV:

My god! I never thought I will live to hear this! Does your daughter-in-law not realise how each episode of a serial is built on the fragile heartstrings of men and women, whose passions run deep as the mountains and who relentlessly climb the oceans of despair, who milk the cows of true love and drink the juice of evil such as one has never heard?

MRS HRIMAAN:

No!

MRS VASUDEV:

Mrs Pandu, let us not waste any more time. Even now, we may be too late.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Mrs Vasudev, you have taken the words from my mouth, like a true friend. We cannot afford to waste any more time. So will you start the sessions, Mrs Vasudev, dear Mrs Vasudev? The others can do theirs later.

MRS VASUDEV:

Of course I will, dear Mrs Hrimaan. I will start at once, immediately, in

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fact. It will be an honour. And don’t lose hope. Never lose hope. MRS DASARATH:

You are so right, Mrs Vasudev. We must start at once. After all, hope, soap and the Pope always go together.

MRS NANDAN:

I will start getting my recipe books. Are you vegetarian or non-vegetarian, Mrs Hrimaan?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Both … But Mrs Nandan, you have a lot of time to get ready. Only Mrs Vasudev has to prepare for her session now … And I thought we could have the sessions in my house, is that alright?… Mrs Vasudev, I will give you the directions.

MRS NANDAN:

The sessions are in your house? Good! Actually I don’t cook non-vegetarian at my home but the masala for both is one and the same. But I must not forget to take my non-stick. (Starts to leave room.)

MRS PANDU:

Ladies! Please, ladies! Why are you itne jaldi mein? We must have some charcha first, planning, yojana. Come and sit down, Mrs Nandan, Mrs Vasudev. Ab tell me how we should start.

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MRS HRIMAAN:

I thought, as I said earlier, Mrs Vasudev could start and then next day somebody else, maybe you, Mrs Pandu, then Mrs Nandan could come and then Mrs Dasarath … I can phone and let you know when she is there and …

MRS PANDU:

Nahi, nahi, Mrs Hrimaan. You don’t say anything. You are still in shock. Ek work keejiye, go and lie down on the sofa … four of us will discuss … aur hum decision reach kar lenge. Don’t worry …

MRS DASARATH:

What a sweet idea. Mrs Pandu always has sweet ideas. Mrs Hrimaan, come, come with me … Slowly now…. Ah! Like that! Good girl!

MRS HRIMAAN:

But … really, I think mine is quite the best plan … Mrs Vasudev on the first day …

MRS DASARATH:

Ssh! No talking! See, the others are already making their darling plans … how sweet they look, isn’t it? Now … let me see you close your eyes … (Tiptoes away elaborately.)

MRS PANDU:

Han, toh what syllabus must we prepare? (Writing.) Conversation English, cooking, beautifying …

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MRS VASUDEV:

General education …

MRS PANDU:

Ge..ner..al … Education mein ‘j’ hotha hai?

MRS VASUDEV:

E..d..u..c..

MRS PANDU:

Thik hai, thik hai … Now, kaun kya karega? Cooking …

MRS HRIMAAN:

I just want to say … that since all of you may not be free on the same day, we could …

MRS DASARATH:

Now, now, ssh … just lie down … or somebody will get upset …

MRS PANDU:

Han, toh I am asking … who is doing the cooking ke lessons? (Writing.) Cooking …

MRS NANDAN:

I, Mrs Nandan. All different styles … South Indian, Maharashtrian, Bengali … East and West …

MRS PANDU:

Woh sab is your decision … I am only writing main headlines…. Next … beautifying … Mrs Dasarath… aap complexion ka dekhengi … and what else …?

MRS HRIMAAN:

If I might suggest … she is not likely to …

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MRS DASARATH:

No! No talking! … Yes, Mrs Pandu, I will deal with hair … nails … clothes …

MRS VASUDEV:

With clothes I can help you, Mrs Dasarath. I watch the video fashion show regularly!

MRS DASARATH:

Really! Do you remember that lovely dress last week? The one that looked like a pumpkin? It was so cute!

MRS VASUDEV:

One of the characters in this serial, Fanta Parapara, wears only bikinis … micro bikinis! You should see the look in the men’s eyes …. Even my husband’s driver …

MRS PANDU:

Ladies! Please! We are taking bahut mahatvapurn decisions here today … So please pay attention … Now (Whispers.) Mrs Hrimaan wanted us to go alag alag on different days. But mujhe lagta hai we should go all together. On the same day. Unity mein takat hai. And who knows what her bahu is like!

MRS NANDAN:

I agree. It is better to go together. I can easily tell the girl one two things about cooking while …

MRS DASARATH:

I am applying the face pack …

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MRS VASUDEV:

And I can read out the summaries of the serials …

MRS PANDU:

Thik hai! Main bhi apne lessons start kar sakti hoon! But what will we say to Mrs Hrimaan? She is saying that we should go separate separate. Uska kya karein?

MRS DASARATH:

I am free only on Saturday afternoons. I have rummy in the mornings, and tambola on Sundays.

MRS PANDU:

Main bhi Saturday afternoon ko hi khali hoon.

MRS NANDAN:

I am free each and every afternoon. But I will say I am free only on Saturday so that we can all go together.

MRS VASUDEV:

Good idea! I will also say that.

MRS PANDU:

Then, we will do one thing. We will tell her we will come on this Saturday, but at different, different times. Not at the same time. Thik hai na? Otherwise worried ho jaayengi. Agreed?

THE OTHERS:

Agreed!

MRS PANDU:

So yeh aane wale Saturday we will all meet in my house at 1:45 and go 185

to her house ek saath … Mrs Dasarath? Mrs Nandan? Mrs … (The others nod.) You all take her address separate separate so that she does not realise our plan. We will tell her, just naam ke vaste, that Mrs Vasudev first jaayengi and she can phone and tell us who who should go next …. Han, toh Mrs Hrimaan, we have decided on everything. Now, don’t do any phickering at all. We will start this Saturday very slowly … thoda, thoda sa … We will start from two o’ clock and come one by one, ek ke baad ek … You think and tell who should come after Mrs Vasudev. We will all be free to come whenever you ask. MRS HRIMAAN:

But can’t you make it on different days? You don’t know my daughter-in-law! She might smell something fishy and …

MRS DASARATH:

That is why we thought of this sweet plan, Mrs Hrimaan. That is why we are coming at different times.

MRS VASUDEV:

And you must say who should come after me, and who should come third …

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MRS HRIMAAN:

You are sure you can’t come on different days? You see, the girl might even take it into her head to go off on a jaunt. And if she does that …

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Hrimaan, if your bahu suddenly wants to go out, aap usko roko. It is your duty to stop her! You want us to help or not?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Of course I want your help … it’s just that … I understand you are all busy people…. But you see, I don’t want any problems with that stupid girl … If you came on different days, she may not realise what we are doing.

MRS PANDU:

But Mrs Hrimaan, we are free only Saturday afternoon ko. Yeh wala, this Saturday afternoon.

MRS NANDAN:

After that, I don’t know when I will have time, abba! So much work I have to do!

MRS DASARATH:

So sweet! I too have no time after this Saturday.

MRS VASUDEV:

And you wanted us to start at once, didn’t you Mrs Hrimaan?

Everyone looks at MRS HRIMAAN accusingly.

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MRS HRIMAAN:

Alright, have it your way. But I will ring up and tell each of you who should come at what time. Please come only after I call you, okay? I only hope that girl stays at home. Shall I make it at half an hour intervals?

MRS PANDU:

That will be alright. Woh thik rahega, hain na?

The others nod. MRS DASARATH:

You look so sweet when you are worried, Mrs Hrimaan. But don’t worry any more. We will make your daughter-in-law the cutest thing in one week. After all, a facial in need is a facial in deed.

MRS HRIMAAN:

I still think you should come on different days … She should not make out that we are …

She is ignored by the others who return to their plans. Lights dim…. Lights up bare LAAVANYA enters in a rush. VANYA:

centre

Mom! Where are you, Mom?

Enter MRS HRIMAAN.

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stage.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Here I am! What happened? Did everything go off alright?

VANYA:

I don’t know! You see, they all want to come on the same day!

MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh my goodness! The ladies also want to come all on the same day!

VANYA:

Which day?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Saturday! Saturday afternoon!

VANYA:

Oh, my goodness! That’s the day the girls are coming too!

MRS HRIMAAN:

What do we do now? Are they all coming together?

VANYA:

Well, that’s what they said at first. Then I persuaded them to come at half hour intervals. But you see, even then it’s going to be tricky! I had thought we would have just one pair a day … But now we’ve got into a proper mess. A real proper mess … oh god!

MRS HRIMAAN:

Wait! Don’t panic! We will think of something …. At what times are the girls coming?

VANYA:

Well, I’ve been given a timetable … (Looking at the schedule.) Urmila is coming at two and Chitra is coming at

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two-thirty, and the others at three and three-thirty…. Oh, I did take another precaution … I told the girls to come by the side gate … I said you were too neurotic to open the front door to a stranger … MRS HRIMAAN:

Fine! Then there won’t be a problem. You see, the older ladies are coming at half hour intervals anyway … And they have asked me to phone and tell them who should come when … So all we have to do is to go according to the timetable you have been given and get the right pair to meet … we’ll use different rooms so there won’t be any accidents …

VANYA:

Good idea! Then we can separate them right away.

MRS HRIMAAN:

And we then have to worry about them only when they are about to leave …

VANYA:

We can give them different times to make their exits too…. It is very useful to have a neurotic mother-in-law …

MRS HRIMAAN:

And a sorceress daughter-in-law …

VANYA:

(Thinking.) Yes. I think it will be alright. A little nerve-racking but …

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we’ll go through with it. What do you say? MRS HRIMAAN:

Can’t back out now, sweetheart. Unless we don’t mind our reputations becoming mud.

VANYA:

Right. What a tangled web we weave and so on. Come, start making your phone calls. I’ll read out the names so we won’t make any mistake at all. Mrs Vasudev will have to come at two … for Urmila.

MRS HRIMAAN:

Yes …. She is … that worked out luckily! Who’s next?

VANYA:

Two-thirty … Chitra … Mrs Dasarath …

MRS HRIMAAN dials a number as lights dim. End of Act 1. Act 2 Saturday afternoon. An elegant drawing room with a sofa/couch, chairs and side tables. Centre stage retains table with telephone and bowl of flowers as in Act 1, to indicate that this is the HRIMAAN home. LAAVANYA is upstage right, extremely agitated, peeping into the wings. MRS HRIMAAN, equally agitated but trying to hide it, is downstage looking into the auditorium. The younger women enter the stage from upstage right. The older women enter

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downstage. MRS HRIMAAN meets them far downstage. VANYA:

Oh, I hope it goes off alright. I’m feeling so scared.

MRS HRIMAAN:

What is there to be scared about? It will be fine. We’ve taken care of all contingencies. Just remember to take Urmila to your bedroom and Chitra to the guest room …

VANYA:

And Rugmini to the kitchen … I wish I knew what Radha is planning … Whom have we paired her with? Mrs Pandu! Oh god! I am sure there will be fireworks there …

MRS HRIMAAN:

Vanya sweetheart, relax! This kind of worrying is not good for you. And I’m sure everything will work out fine, believe me.

VANYA:

Oh, Mom! As if I can’t hear your voice trembling and see how agitated you are. You are even more worried than I am. You think all great enterprises are like this? That Gandhiji may have felt the same way too?

MRS HRIMAAN:

The trouble with history is that it ignores the moment of tension when faced with the achievement at the end of it.

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VANYA:

(Crossing over to give MRS HRIMAAN a kiss.) Oh Mom! You say such wise things at moments like this. You’re wonderful!

MRS HRIMAAN:

(Trying to be brave.) At moments like what?

VANYA:

Mom, you…. Did you hear that? There’s someone coming in at the side gate!

Crosses back to upstage right as clock strikes two. VANYA:

She is here! Urmila! On the dot!

MRS HRIMAAN:

I can see a car stopping at the gate …! Oh, my goodness! It’s not Mrs Vasudev …! It’s Mrs Dasarath and … there’s someone else in the car!

VANYA:

Oh my god, my god! What do we do now?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Don’t panic! Just don’t panic! Let me think.

VANYA:

Think fast! Urmila’s nearly here.

MRS HRIMAAN:

I know! You keep Urmila talking at the back for two minutes and I will take Mrs Dasarath to the guest room. If the other one is Mrs Vasudev, I will ask her to stay here and wait for you. If it

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is not, I will take her inside with me. In the meanwhile … VANYA:

… if I see somebody here, I will leave Urmila here and disappear. Otherwise, I will take Urmila to my bedroom. But if this isn’t Mrs Vasudev … what do we do then?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Don’t worry about that now. Let’s handle this crisis first. Go. Quick!

LAAVANYA leaves upstage right as MRS DASARATH and MRS PANDU enter downstage left. MRS HRIMAAN:

Oh, Mrs Dasarath! And Mrs Pandu! (To MRS PANDU.) How did you happen to come so early? I didn’t expect you now. How nice of you both to come! I’ve got the guest room all ready for you, Mrs Dasarath. And you and I can talk in the kitchen, Mrs Pandu … I have so much more to tell you about …

MRS DASARATH:

You are looking so cute, Mrs Hrimaan. Now where do I …

MRS PANDU:

Don’t worry about me, Mrs Hrimaan. I came early because mera work khatam ho gaya tha. I will look at your lovely bageecha while you

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make all the arrangements for Mrs Dasarath. MRS HRIMAAN:

There are really no arrangements to be made. I only thought it would be better if you met my daughter-in-law separately instead of all together. Sometimes she can be such a …

MRS PANDU:

Han, han! We’ll do it like that!

MRS HRIMAAN:

Then why don’t you come along too? You and I can discuss so many things over a cup of tea.

MRS PANDU:

Nahi. I do not want ek cup chai at this time.

MRS DASARATH:

Mrs Hrimaan, I have to make my preparations. You see, I use only herbals and …. Where is this guest bedroom?

MRS HRIMAAN:

(Desperately.) Won’t you come too, Mrs Pandu?

MRS PANDU:

Nahi, nahi! I am bilkul fine here! Don’t worry! You two go!

MRS DASARATH:

Come Mrs. Hrimaan, I must get this ready.

(MRS HRIMAAN leads MRS DASARATH away reluctantly, upstage left, as MRS PANDU remains

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unseen downstage left and LAAVANYA and URMILA enter upstage right.) URMILA:

What exactly have you told her about me?

VANYA:

I didn’t say anything much. I just said a friend was coming.

URMILA:

Good! We must allay all suspicion! In fact, I don’t want you to be in evidence! So don’t be seen here at all, okay? … Ah! That’s a good couch! Ideal, in fact! I will sit here and … (Begins to arrange the furniture.)

VANYA:

But … I had got my bedroom ready for you … there’s a nice double bed there and total privacy and …

URMILA:

A double bed is precisely the wrong item to use in the circumstances…. It has an extreme sexual significance that can destroy the patient’s already fragile psyche and lead to an overwhelming negation of her personality. In such cases every care must be taken to ensure that … but I can see your mother-in-law coming through the garden! Do please leave her to me! Please!

LAAVANYA leaves upstage right, reluctantly, as MRS PANDU enters downstage left.

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MRS PANDU:

Ah! So you are the bahu! Accha hua that we have met first. We can start the lesson quickly.

URMILA:

Of course, of course! Why don’t you lie down on this couch and feel comfortable while I …

MRS PANDU:

Kya? Lie down on the couch? … You are paagal or what? (Changes her mind swiftly.) … Yes, yes. Good idea! Accha idea hai! I will lie down and you will sit and listen. Thik hai?

URMILA:

Wonderful! But first I have to ask you some questions.

MRS PANDU:

Han, han. Poochho, zarur poochho! But only in English!

URMILA:

Naturally only in English! … Now, tell me, do you recall any traumatic event that you experienced as a child or in your adolescent years that might have led to your delusion that …

MRS PANDU:

Kya? What are you saying? Yeh English hai kya?

URMILA:

Now, now, just keep lying down … relax completely … you are in the hands of a trained expert … there is no necessity for you to…. Now tell me (Taking out a pad surreptitiously.) Do you dream a great deal?

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MRS PANDU:

Dream? Han, han. I have a dream of teaching Angrezi to the whole country.

URMILA:

That’s very laudable but I am asking about other kinds of dreams. Private dreams.

MRS PANDU:

Yeh kya hai, private dreams, public dreams.

URMILA:

Do you dream in black and white or in colour?

MRS PANDU:

Arre! We have colour TV. Why should I have black and white? I belong to a big khaandan, you know, and this kaalasafed business …

URMILA:

Alright. What we will now do is run a word association test … I will say certain words and you tell me what comes to your mind when you hear them…. Shall we start?

MRS PANDU:

Itna jab show off kar rahi ho, you tell me the spelling of ek ek word.

URMILA:

What? Yes. Yes. Good! That’s good! I will do that. Now … ready? … Good … first word … ‘snake’.

MRS PANDU:

(After a pause.) Spelling bhool gayi?

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URMILA:

Sorry…. S..n..a..k..e … snake. Now tell me, what word do you associate with the word ‘snake’?

MRS PANDU:

Snake? … Garden! Bageecha! … Han! Now, tum bolo. You give me another word for snake.

URMILA:

You want me to give an associated word? That is what I want you to do.

MRS PANDU:

If you don’t give, then seekhegi kaise, han? Bol quickly, bol.

URMILA:

Alright! Alright! I’ll play it your way. Let me see …. Snake … a phallic symbol!

MRS PANDU:

Arre, buddhu! … Reptile! Reptile! A snake is a reptile! Uff! Mujhe aur lie down nahi karna! Listen, stay here aur alphabet likho … backwards from Z to A … main abhi aayi … I will get some KG books for you …

Exits left as LAAVANYA enters with CHITRA upstage right. URMILA:

But … (Sees CHITRA and LAAVANYA.) Chitra, you are early!

CHITRA:

I thought I would take a small recce before I start. Test the bounce on the floor and so on ….

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URMILA:

Let me finish my session first, alright? It was proceeding very well but something seems to have occurred to her suddenly … something in her childhood, when she was in KG she said and she left abruptly … I think I will go and get her back …

Exits left. VANYA:

Wait! Urmila! Not that way … Urmila … Oh my god! Chitra … will you sit for a minute … I’ll …

Exits hurriedly left. Enter MRS DASARATH right with a small bowl and a large sheet. MRS DASARATH:

What a strange house this is! I almost got lost. (Sees CHITRA.) Oh here you are, my dear! I have been going round and round this cute house, looking for you. And you have been waiting so sweetly for me here. You have even got a couch ready, I can see! Come, come and lie down.

CHITRA:

Lie down! That is what the trouble is. Too much lying down!

200

MRS DASARATH:

How sweetly you put it! … Maybe you prefer to sit down, hm? Here, take this chair. (CHITRA sits.) That’s the way! Good girl!

MRS DASARATH slips behind CHITRA and skilfully ties her to the chair with the sheet. CHITRA:

I am sitting down only because we have to discuss … hey … what are you doing?

MRS DASARATH:

(Massaging her face.) Sit quietly now! No need to worry! Aunty is going to make you look beautiful! Won’t that be nice?

CHITRA:

(Struggling.) What nonsense is this? Under section …

MRS DASARATH:

(Begins to apply the face mask with a brush.) Now, now, little girls should not be naughty! They must listen to Aunty, hm? There you are, this is done! Now, I will put these nice cucumber pieces over your eyes (Does so.) one on your left eye, one on your right eye … and one for you to eat too. Isn’t that nice? It’s so good for your complexion also. There you are, all done! How cute you look!

CHITRA:

Humph! HUMPH!

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MRS DASARATH:

I know, I know, the face pack is making your face nice and stiff, hm? But only for a little while, okay? … A very little while. After all, nothing suffered, nothing have! Now let me look at your nails …. My goodness … that’s not nice, you have been biting your nails. Naughty! Naughty! But Aunty will make it all alright, don’t worry … Aunty will go and get some nice hot water in a large bowl and give you a nice manicure…. Won’t that be nice! … Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a minute!

MRS DASARATH exits upstage left as MRS NANDAN enters downstage left, laden with a large frying pan, a couple of ladles, a rolling pin, and a bag full of onions. MRS NANDAN:

I got so late, Mrs Hrimaan, I did not go to Mrs Pandu’s house at all but came straight … (Calls out.) Mrs Hrimaan … (Sees CHITRA.) What is this?… Ayyo! It’s a ghost! A ghost! Ayyayyo! Ghost! Ghost!

Drops everything and runs upstage left as CHITRA breaks free of the sheet and stands up seething. RADHA enters upstage right.

202

RADHA:

Where is Laavanya? … You know I think I am hearing my mother-in-law screaming …

CHITRA:

I have no idea what is happening. I don’t care! I just want to get this muck off my face!

CHITRA exits upstage right as RADHA notices the frying pan. RADHA:

My god! I am recognising my non-stick … which my mother has given…. My MIL is here … she is stealing my non-stick and bringing it here. (Snatches up frying pan. MRS NANDAN’S voice heard off.)

MRS NANDAN:

(Off.) It was a ghost, Mrs Dasarath. You can say what you like … it was a ghost. I saw it with my own eyes.

MRS DASARATH:

(Off.) What a sweet idea! But there are no such things as ghosts. Come, you come with me, it must be something quite simple.

MRS NANDAN:

(Off.) It was a ghost! I am telling you. When I see a ghost I can recognise it.

RADHA looks around desperately in the meanwhile, feeling trapped. Then she notices the bowl that MRS DASARATH has left behind,

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spreads the lotion on her face, swathes the sheet around her and sits, hiding the frying pan under the sheet. Enter MRS NANDAN and MRS DASARATH upstage left. MRS DASARATH carries a large bowl. MRS NANDAN:

It was making faces sitting on a chair, on that ch … Ayyayyo! It is still there. Look!

MRS DASARATH:

(Laughing. She has a tinkly laugh.) Oh Mrs Nandan, that is the little girl! I have put one of my face packs on her! And you thought it was a ghost! (Laughs.) … But she is looking a little different …

MRS NANDAN:

(Screams suddenly.) Where is my non-stick? Where is my non-stick gone? It was just here … my non-stick …

MRS DASARATH:

Now, now, Mrs Nandan, it must still be here somewhere…. A non-stick pan can’t walk off by itself. After all, out of sight is inside the mind …

As MRS DASARATH and MRS NANDAN search for the frying pan, RADHA slides out upstage right. MRS NANDAN:

It is not anywhere … I must have taken it inside. Oh, Mrs Dasarath, please find it with me … 204

MRS NANDAN drags MRS DASARATH upstage left as MRS PANDU enters upstage left too. MRS DASARATH:

Mrs Pandu will you do me a favour, please? Just hold her hands down in that bowl of hot water … I’ll come back in … (Is dragged off.)

MRS PANDU picks up the bowl and looks around puzzled as URMILA enters upstage right. URMILA:

Ah! The Lady Macbeth syndrome! (Coughs.) So, do you frequently feel that your hands can never get clean? That not all the perfumes of Arabia can disinfect your hand of the smell of human blood? Shall we talk about it?

MRS PANDU:

Dekho! Don’t make mazaak of me! You are supposed to put your hands in this hot water. Put it at once. Daalo!

URMILA:

Come, come. This unnatural obsession with cleanliness is not uncommon with women in the menopausal stage …

MRS PANDU:

You are now calling me names? Let me tell you, main bahut badhi khaandaan ki hun. I am also married to a royal family … don’t think that … 205

URMILA:

Of course, of course … the Noor Jahan neurosis…. Quite typical … I must say you are very interesting case material…. Now if you would …

MRS DASARATH:

(Off.) Mrs Pandu, has she scrubbed her hands in the water? Tell her to scrub it well … I am just coming!

URMILA drops the bowl of water on hearing her mother-in-law’s voice and exits hurriedly upstage right as MRS VASUDEV enters downstage left. MRS VASUDEV carries several glossy magazines, colourful dresses on hangers and a few wide-brimmed hats. MRS VASUDEV:

Mrs Hrimaan … Mrs Hrimaan…. Oh, the front door is open…. How thoughtful. Oh, Mrs Pandu, I must apologise. I got very late at the boutique…. They told me that they had a new line of clothes based on the Cold and the Dutiful serial. You remember that is the one about fashion designing … oh, what happened to you?

MRS PANDU:

Mujhe kuch nahi maloom! Kuch nahi! (Shouts.) Mrs Hrimaan! Mrs Hrimaan …

Enter a harassed MRS HRIMAAN.

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MRS PANDU:

Mrs Hrimaan, I came to help you and dekhiye kya hua hai. I am searching for you everywhere and now your daughter-in-law wants to kill me. If the water had been aur jyada hot, I would have got burnt …

MRS HRIMAAN:

I am terribly sorry, Mrs Pandu. I was looking for Mrs Nandan’s non-stick, I mean her frying pan…. Please come inside and change … I will give you one of my saris…. Please come …

Exit MRS PANDU and MRS HRIMAAN. MRS VASUDEV:

(Arranging her wares happily, calls after them.) Mrs Hrimaan, you can send your daughter-inlaw to me now … I am quite ready … (Hums a tune, a soap signature tune?)

Enter RADHA cautiously, upstage right, holding the frying pan. She still has traces of lotion on her face. MRS VASUDEV:

(Catches sight of her.) Oh, come in, come in. So you have put on the facial? Very good! See, I have brought you some pretty clothes. Do you want to try on the hats first? Here! (Puts a hat on RADHA’S head and stands back to see the effect.) Now this hat is good for tearful 207

scenes … you know, where the husband starts looking at other women’s legs … try this … ah … this one is when the lawyer stops asking for advances and makes advances … RADHA:

You are being so funny! Why I should wear these things and hide my face? My face is for seeing, no?

MRS VASUDEV:

You are right! You are very right! You talk exactly like the second heroine in my favourite serial, Kara. You know she is the one who has hair like boiled noodles.

RADHA:

Akka noodles.

MRS VASUDEV:

Hakka.

RADHA:

That is right. Akka noodles.

MRS VASUDEV:

No, not Akka. Hakka! Hakka!

RADHA:

That is akka in Chinese language, I believe. But I am wanting to ask you how you boil clothes?

MRS VASUDEV:

Boil clothes?

RADHA:

In these days, everybody is having washing machine, no?

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So nobody is knowing how to boil clothes. But when clothes are boiled only, all the dirt goes away. So I am teaching you … MRS.VASUDEV:

Teaching? Me?

RADHA:

This is what they are calling Captain Education … no, no, sorry, General Education…. Sometimes I am forgetting names…. You know General Education?

MRS VASUDEV:

I am very interested in general education too. What a coincidence! This is just like the serial that comes on Wednesday afternoon …

RADHA:

You are meaning the one with girl and boy who are meeting another one girl and boy who are having same names and …

MRS VASUDEV:

Yes, yes, that’s the one! And they go for a picnic in the Amazon jungles and they see a lion which becomes their pet …

RADHA:

And they are finding a lady lion for the man lion and then there is suddenly lot of snowfall and they are getting lost and lost …

209

MRS VASUDEV:

This is so strange! Your mother-in-law said that you never see television!

RADHA:

What mother-in-laws know? My MIL sleeps the full afternoon. But what you think will happen in the story now? Will there be marriage?

MRS VASUDEV:

No, no! Not now! These people do everything that husbands and wives do, they sleep on the same bed, they go shopping together, they cook, they shout at each other, but it is still romance. Not marriage!

RADHA:

When it becomes marriage?

MRS VASUDEV:

When she throws away his socks and he throws away her dinner…. So now, we will have to see what happens in this story.

RADHA:

We will think that while I am showing how to boil clothes?

MRS VASUDEV:

Oh yes. I want to learn that very much! You should see how dirty my son’s clothes become! He is in government service, you know … laundering of money!

210

RADHA:

(Taking off the sheet around her neck.) See, this is your son’s shirt, imagine …

MRS VASUDEV:

Imagined!

RADHA:

(Drawing a rectangle in the air.) This is gas stove, imagine.

MRS VASUDEV:

(Also drawing a rectangle in the air.) A gas stove imagined!

RADHA:

Now I am putting big vessel with water on gas stove. (Does so with appropriate grunts and groans.)

MRS VASUDEV:

A big vessel with water. Done!

RADHA:

(With appropriate gestures.) Now I am lighting stove and waiting for water to be boiling.

MRS VASUDEV:

I too.

RADHA:

(Standing negligently as if at a kitchen platform.) Ah, so we were talking about what …? That serial …

MRS VASUDEV:

That serial where everybody has the same names! It is so interesting, isn’t it? You think that man with the crooked face will do … you know what … to

211

that girl who is lost in the snow in the jungle? RADHA:

How can he do it? There is no bed there, no!

MRS VASUDEV:

You are right! But he might fall in love with her and carry her away to his hut and her leg gets broken …

RADHA:

And she will forget her name and he will call her … call her …

RUGMINI:

(Off.) Laavanya! Laavanya! Where are you? Laavanya!

MRS VASUDEV:

Oh, oh my god!

RADHA:

What has happened?

MRS VASUDEV:

That is my daughter-in-law!

RADHA:

Your daughter-in-law? But that is Rugmini!

MRS VASUDEV:

That is my daughter-in-law!

RADHA:

But that means … you are not Laavanya’s MIL?

MRS VASUDEV:

Laavanya! You are Laavanya? Oh my god!

RUGMINI:

(Off.) Laavanya!

RADHA:

You are not wanting to see her, I think. (MRS VASUDEV shakes

212

not

her head.) Forget about hot water! Come, let us be running away! MRS VASUDEV and RADHA exit hurriedly downstage left through garden door, the latter dropping the sheet over the frying pan as RUGMINI enters upstage right. She carries a bulging briefcase. RUGMINI:

Laavanya! Chitra! everybody? Laavanya!

Where

is

Enter MRS NANDAN upstage left. MRS NANDAN:

So much of shouting! So much of screaming! So much of running! Abba! My mother always said when one woman will not trust another woman, then Kali yuga has come…. My non-stick … my poor non-stick! When will I see you again?

RUGMINI:

Are you talking of a non-stick frying pan? That is an item of great utilitarian value. Now the bank has some excellent savings plans for helping you towards possessing time-saving articles and ….

MRS NANDAN:

You will help me?

RUGMINI:

Certainly! I work in a … 213

MRS NANDAN:

You will help me find my non-stick?

RUGMINI:

Why only a frying pan? Look at this. This is one of our best plans for helping you set up your dream kitchen. It is called the ‘Rustle Up Rasoi Yojana’. All you have to do, every month, is deposit one thousand rupees or multiples thereof, and at the end of, let me see, at the end of hundred and forty four months you can buy whatever kitchen item you want. Now, I am sure you want to know how you can calculate the benefits of this yojana …. All you have to do is divide the number of months by …

MRS NANDAN:

Divide! Divide! That is what she always wants to do. Your non-stick, my non-stick, your cooker, my cooker, your mixer grinder, my …

RUGMINI:

Division may be difficult, so let us try addition, okay? Now if you had one pressure cooker, one frying pan, one mixer grinder and three casseroles, then how many things will you have altogether?

MRS NANDAN:

What is the colour of the casseroles?

214

RUGMINI:

Colour? Why do you want to know the colour?

MRS NANDAN:

The blue casseroles with the rose colour flowers are hers. Mine are white with a small border pattern like cross stitch, so pretty! But when we have guests, what does she do? She hides mine in the bureau and puts hers on the table…. And then she shows off about how many things her mother gave her, and how stylish they are and … oh, oh, my non-stick! My non-stick!

RUGMINI:

(Hurriedly.) Yes. Yes! Now about this addition, if three families came for dinner to your house, a husband, a wife with four children each, how many people will you have to cook for?

MRS NANDAN:

Why should I cook for so many people? I will make her cook!

RUGMINI:

(Desperately.) I’m just asking you to suppose … just suppose three husbands and three wives with four children each, came to your house …

MRS NANDAN:

They will all be from her side of the family only. You know, they don’t practise family planning, each of them has six, six, eight, eight children…. Such greedy children also …

215

RUGMINI:

Right! So if one husband and wife have eight children, and another couple has six, how many people have been added to the population?

MRS NANDAN:

(Spotting the frying pan with delight.) My non-stick! My non-stick! See, it was under this sheet. Oh, my non-stick! Come, come, my dear. We can start straightaway!

RUGMINI:

Start what?

MRS NANDAN:

Your classes! You are so interested in cooking, no? Come, now that I have got my non-stick, we can start. Come.

RUGMINI:

Cooking! But I don’t want to …

MRS NANDAN:

You can’t deceive me! All those questions you asked … about so many people coming for dinner … casseroles … pressure cookers … (Catches hold of RUGMINI’S arm and starts dragging her off.) Come, come, don’t feel shy ….

RUGMINI:

No! I don’t want … (Is dragged off, upstage left.)

Enter CHITRA upstage right. CHITRA:

That yucky stuff! It took years to get off! Where is that woman? I must do my duty and get her in proper shape!

216

Enter MRS DASARATH holding a large bowl. CHITRA and(Together.) Ah! There you are! I was MRS looking … DASARATH: CHITRA:

We have wasted enough time! Please put that wretched bowl down and …

MRS DASARATH:

We have wasted so much time! Now, do sit down and put your hands into this … I had to heat the water again … Come on!

CHITRA:

Damn the bowl! (Snatches the bowl from her, puts it none too gently on a table and begins to position MRS DASARATH.) Now, stand straight. Feet slightly apart … arms to the side … now … (Demonstrates.) … right arm up … breathe in, right arm down … breathe out … come on, get into the rhythm … left arm up, breathe in, left arm down … Come on, come on …

MRS DASARATH:

What … (As CHITRA pushes her arm up.) How dare you! You …

CHITRA:

Now the legs … Come on, come on …. To the sides … right leg up … right leg down … very good … left leg up … left leg down …. Sing with 217

me … come on, sing … (Sings.) … that’s the way, ahan, ahan, I like it … that’s the way … ahan, ahan, I like it … faster now…. That’s the way … ahan, ahan, I … Enter MRS PANDU upstage left. MRS PANDU:

Chitrangada! What is this bakvaas? What are you doing bechaari Mrs Dasarath ko?

CHITRA:

You! What are you doing here? And who is Mrs Dasarath? I have never done anything to any Mrs Dasarath…. Can’t you see I’m busy? Now, please let me carry on with my workout session … faster … a bit faster … that’s the way ahan ahan … I …

MRS PANDU:

Arre! Buddhu kahin ki! You have the dimaag of a traffic constable! … This is Mrs Dasarath … this lady … yeh hain Mrs Dasarath …

CHITRA:

This lady, for your information, is Laavanya’s mother-in-law …

MRS DASARATH:

I…

MRS PANDU:

Tum mujhe teach rahi ho? This lady is Mrs Dasarath … Not some

218

Laavanya, Kaavanya’s mother-in-law. She is Mrs Dasarath. MRS DASARATH:

I am …

CHITRA:

No, she is not!

MRS DASARATH:

I is …

MRS PANDU:

Yes, she is.

MRS DASARATH:

She am …

CHITRA:

No!

MRS PANDU:

Yes … Yes … Yes … Han … Han … Han …

CHITRA:

Just because you say a word three times does not make it legal. Even the Supreme Court …

MRS PANDU:

I am the Supreme Court!

MRS DASARATH:

Please! Please!

CHITRA:

And who has authority, pray?

MRS PANDU:

Pray karo … aur pray karo! You are a naastik, after all!

219

given

you

that

MRS DASARATH:

Please!

CHITRA:

I hold a very responsible intellectual position. I am an agnostic.

MRS PANDU:

Han, han … agnostic … non-stick … ek hi hua …

CHITRA:

How dare you! How dare you say such things?

MRS DASARATH:

Please! Stop it …

MRS PANDU:

Tum wohi ho … a frying pan … ek non-stick …

CHITRA:

And you are a …

MRS PANDU:

You are a good-for-nothing non-stick jis mein omelette bhi burn ho jate …

CHITRA:

You are a … a …

MRS PANDU:

You bekaar non-stick frying pan!

CHITRA:

You are a … a … broken down aluminium kettle!

MRS PANDU:

A frying pan! Ek non-stick …

220

MRS PANDU and CHITRA get close to physical warfare and in desperation, MRS DASARATH throws the water in the bowl over them as MRS NANDAN enters upstage left. The timing is very important here. MRS NANDAN:

You are still finding my non-stick? Don’t worry! I have got it. In fact, she will be using it now for making omelettes. I told her to beat the egg and to put a little salt and … Oh, Mrs Pandu, you are all wet again … You are feeling very hot aa?

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Nandan, please tell me this lady’s name. (Points to MRS DASARATH.)

MRS NANDAN:

What are you …

MRS DASARATH:

(Cutting MRS NANDAN.) Why don’t you ask me for my name? I can tell you my name. Why are you asking other people?

MRS NANDAN:

What do you mean, other people? I am other people, is it?

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Dasarath, my great daughter-in-law is a police officer. Aise waise she won’t accept. She will say, ‘Witness kidhar hai?’ So …

221

MRS NANDAN:

I am other people. How can I be witness? I don’t know this lady, abba, I don’t know her at all.

MRS DASARATH:

I’m telling you …

Enter URMILA upstage right. URMILA:

I don’t know where she might have gone. Chitra, have you seen … my god!

MRS DASARATH:

(Triumphantly.) Ah, look! I have got the best witness in the world. Urmila darling, you always have such perfect timing, so cute! Child, tell all these people who I am. Tell them my name, dear.

MRS PANDU:

Mrs Dasarath, sarcastic hone ki need nahi hai. I was only wanting my daughter-in-law to know …

URMILA:

Your daughter-in-law? Who is your daughter-in-law? Aren’t you …

MRS NANDAN:

Other people, people!

it

seems.

Other

Screams from the garden. RADHA and MRS VASUDEV enter in a terrible rush.

222

RADHA and(Confusedly.) Fire! Smoke! Egg! MRS Omelette! VASUDEV: MRS VASUDEV:

Saw her from the kitchen window!

MRS NANDAN:

Kitchen? Fire? Omelette? Oh god, my non-stick! (Exits upstage left.)

RADHA:

Non-stick? Oh god, my non-stick (Exits upstage left, followed by MRS VASUDEV.)

MRS PANDU:

(To URMILA.) So you are Mrs Dasarath’s bahu? She has told me about you. She …

MRS DASARATH:

(Quickly.) I have talked so much about how clever you are. So clever and so cute! (To CHITRA.) And you, my dear, are Mrs Pandu’s daughter-in-law. She also has told me a lot about you. What a brave girl you are! So brave!

MRS PANDU:

What do you mean by that, Mrs Dasarath? Aap kehna kya chahti hain?

CHITRA sneezes. MRS DASARATH:

(To CHITRA.) My dear, you are catching a cold … Why don’t you change your clothes? See, here are

223

some nice clothes. (Picks up what MRS VASUDEV had brought.) Urmila dear, help this child change. MRS PANDU:

Mrs Dasarath, that is my bahu. If there is anything to be done toh main karoongi. Chitra … bete, aao … ghar chalen. We are both going to get bukhaar because of this woman.

URMILA:

Excuse me, if you are referring to my mother-in-law, please use terms of social respect and acknowledgement. An accepted code of manners must always be pursued in any civilised community even if the principles are …

MRS PANDU:

What is she bakoing? I don’t understand even one word. Chalo Chitra …

MRS DASARATH:

(Sweetly.) And I thought you were a teacher! So sad!

CHITRA:

(Sneezing now and then.) Mrs Dasarath, please don’t use below-the-belt tactics. According to the Geneva convention …

MRS PANDU:

You have raised a bilkul thik legal point, Chitra. Mrs Dasarath, think of Geneva conversation. But what is the use? For you … Geneva … 224

halva … vah … vah … sab ek hai. Chitra, let us go jaldi … come … bete … In a terrible flurry enter MRS NANDAN holding a burnt frying pan, followed by RADHA, followed by MRS VASUDEV, MRS HRIMAAN, RUGMINI and LAAVANYA. The following lines are distinguishable but could overlap till RUGMINI blames MRS VASUDEV for the situation. MRS NANDAN:

She has burnt my non-stick! Oh, oh, she has burnt my non-stick. Mrs Hrimaan, your daughter-in-law has burnt my non-stick …

MRS HRIMAAN:

But Mrs Nandan, I’m telling you she is not …

RADHA:

… not your non-stick. It is mine only. Mine!

RUGMINI:

I tell you it is not my fault … the manufacturer is to blame ….

VANYA:

We will buy you another frying pan. Promise.

MRS VASUDEV:

No! I will buy it. After all, she is my daughter-in-law …

RUGMINI:

(To MRS VASUDEV.) All this is your fault anyway. I told you to invest in the ‘Rustle Up Rasoi’ scheme and you refused …

225

MRS VASUDEV:

Why should I invest in that stupid scheme when I have everything I want in the kitchen? A sandwich bottom pressure cooker, copper bottom frying pan, double bottom saucepan …

MRS NANDAN:

And a lazy bottom daughter-in-law! … What is the use of all that if you don’t teach your daughter-in-law how to make omlettes in a non-stick? Oh my non-stick … my non-stick …

MRS VASUDEV:

Kindly don’t talk of my daughter-in-law in that way. She is a highly placed officer in a bank.

RUGMINI:

And my mother-in-law is not to blame if I can’t cook. I never go to the kitchen …

RADHA:

And anyway, it is my non-stick. I am not blaming anyone, it is happening like that sometimes. And when my mother knows, she will be buying me another non-stick. So you stop crying for nothing, Amma.

MRS NANDAN:

Nothing? You are saying all this that happened today is nothing?

MRS PANDU:

Bilkul right thing kaha hai aapne Mrs Nandan! Today I got wet two-two

226

times. My poor daughter-in-law also. She will zaroor get influenza. CHITRA:

(Sneezing.) That’s not all. I also had some horrible stuff plastered all over my face.

MRS DASARATH:

That ‘horrible stuff’ as you put it, my dear, is my own, very special face pack. What about those horrible exercises that you made me do? If I get a horrible sprain, I will blame you.

MRS PANDU:

Why blame my bahu? What about your one? What dirty savaals she asked me. I feel ashamed just sochne mein bhi!

MRS NANDAN:

And this one does not even know if the frying pan is to be put this or that way … Oh! Oh! Whose face did I see in the morning today? Abba! Such a bad day!

MRS DASARATH:

A horrible, horrible day! Urmila dear, I think I have broken my neck…. Please help me to a chair.

CHITRA sneezes. She can, from here on, speak as if she has a heavy cold coming on. MRS PANDU:

And mujhe lagta hai that my daughter-in-law ko pneumonia hua hai. Bahut thanks to you. 227

MRS DASARATH groans, CHITRA sneezes and it is MRS VASUDEV who asks the all important question. MRS VASUDEV:

But tell me, how did all this happen? Before today, nothing like this happened!

MRS NANDAN:

You don’t remember or what? Mrs Hrimaan wanted us to help her.

MRS PANDU:

Help her to make her daughter-in-law behter! Humph!

MRS DASARATH:

(Groaning.) Make her beautiful …

MRS NANDAN:

Teach her cooking! Cooking! Abba! In the next seven yugas she won’t learn!

RUGMINI:

Wait a minute! Wait a second! I did not come here to learn cooking! I came here to teach Laavanya’s mother-in-law basic arithmetic!

MRS NANDAN:

Oh, so that is what you were doing to me! But why?

URMILA:

Because Laavanya requested each one of us as professionals to extend our help to her.

CHITRA:

Help her with her MIL. (Sneezes.)

228

RADHA:

MIL means mother-in-law. I was teaching in what what ways to clean the house, the clothes …

URMILA:

I was requested to conduct a psychological examination to ascertain how …

MRS PANDU:

Oh, toh tum ascertain kar rahi thi? Thinking I was Mrs Hrimaan?

CHITRA:

Precisely. And I was doing an aerobics workshop with the wrong person too. I am sorry, Mrs Dasarath. I thought you were Laavanya’s mother-in-law.

URMILA:

I tender my apologies too, Mrs Pandu.

MRS PANDU:

Arre bete, tum kyo apologise kar rahi ho? If anybody ko apologise karna ho, it has to be …

Everyone turns to look at MRS HRIMAAN and LAAVANYA. The girls glare at LAAVANYA and the older women at MRS HRIMAAN. MRS HRIMAAN:

I … I … I and Laavanya … Laavanya and I … we were only trying to …

MRS PANDU:

Kya? Trying to do what? Drown us or …

229

MRS NANDAN:

Burn us?

URMILA:

Make us a focus for frivolity?

CHITRA:

Getting us into a law and order situation?

MRS PANDU:

Kahiye, Mrs Hrimaan, kya idea tha?

MRS VASUDEV:

Yes, what was the idea? Tell us.

LAAVANYA clutches her head picturesquely. Total commotion.

and

faints

MRS HRIMAAN:

Vanya! Oh my god! Vanya!

MRS PANDU:

Water! Paani! Jaldi, jaldi!

RADHA:

I will get! (Exits upstage left.)

MRS NANDAN:

Put her on the sofa. Carefully!

CHITRA:

Keep her head up! Up!

RUGMINI:

Here! Put this cushion under her head.

MRS VASUDEV:

She has become so white! Poor thing!

230

URMILA:

Her pulse is quite steady, I’m happy to say …

Enter RADHA with water. RADHA:

Here is water. Give her quickly!

CHITRA and RUGMINI lift LAAVANYA’S head as MRS PANDU puts the glass to her lips. MRS PANDU:

Slowly, bete! Slowly!

RUGMINI:

There’s no hurry at all …

CHITRA:

Just take it easy now …

As the group around the sofa tend to LAAVANYA, MRS NANDAN stares at her and then whispers something into MRS VASUDEV’S ear. MRS VASUDEV:

Really!

MRS NANDAN nods, RADHA looks around puzzled and MRS VASUDEV whispers into her ear. RADHA:

(Very excited.) So that is why!

MRS PANDU:

Ssh! Don’t shout! What is why, han? Bol!

RADHA whispers into MRS PANDU’S ear. MRS PANDU:

Sach? It is that?

CHITRA and URMILA:

(Together.) What? 231

MRS PANDU laughs and nods at MRS HRIMAAN. VANYA:

(Opens her eyes.) Where am I?

MRS PANDU:

In the right place, beta! In the bilkul right place.

MRS PANDU puts the glass on the table and whispers into CHITRA’S ear, who in turn whispers into URMILA and RUGMINI’S ears. CHITRA:

This is very exciting.

RUGMINI:

A very desirable investment, isn’t it so?

URMILA:

It is the symbol of the continuation of the human race in all its …

RADHA:

Since baby is going to come, we must have something sweet, no?

MRS NANDAN:

Yes. Yes. You have such good ideas, Radha. Come, you and I will make our special halva! Come, let us start.

RUGMINI:

May I come too and watch?

MRS NANDAN:

Why only watch? Radha and I will tell you and you only will make it. Come on.

RADHA:

Yes, you only will make it. See, first we will take some rava … (MRS

232

NANDAN, RADHA and RUGMINI huddle together in discussion.) MRS DASARATH:

I will lay the table. Chitra, will you help me?

CHITRA:

Sure! Business! Back to business everybody. Mummy, you sit with Laavanya.

MRS PANDU:

Han, han, I will sit here.

CHITRA:

So, where do I put what, Mrs Dasarath?

URMILA:

Mrs Hrimaan, you also have to make many adjustments to this situation. I will explain how best you can …

MRS VASUDEV:

Let me clear up this place. What a mess!

MRS HRIMAAN and LAAVANYA look amazed. MRS HRIMAAN:

But aren’t you …

VANYA:

Angry?

MRS HRIMAAN:

Furious?

VANYA:

Mad at us?

Everyone looks at everyone else. There is a small giggle from RADHA as she moves up and takes

233

MRS VASUDEV’S hand in hers. RUGMINI and MRS NANDAN move closer to each other, the frying pan between them. MRS DASARATH hugs CHITRA and URMILA and MRS PANDU strokes LAAVANYA’S forehead. The giggle gets louder. It becomes a laugh, then, as everyone joins in, there is a cascade of full-throated laughter. MRS PANDU:

(Shouting.) Woh sab kal tha! Kal meaning yesterday.

RADHA:

(Shouting.) And today is today, no?

CHITRA:

And tomorrow. tomorrow?

MRS DASARATH:

I think tomorrow is going to be really cute.

What

about

The laughter continues as a spot falls on LAAVANYA, radiantly looking at MRS HRIMAAN. Lights fade. And then they come on again as the cast moves up in pairs, each mother-in-law with her rightful daughter-in-law. Blackout.

234

Keats was a Tuber 1996 Keats Was a Tuber was written with the intention of vanquishing that old demon — of being Indian and choosing to write in English. Though this issue is no longer as vexatious as it once was, all writers in English have had to deal with it at some time or the other and in their own way. Keats Was a Tuber is set in the staffroom of the English department of a small town college where it is possible even now, to find staunch custodians of the English language and literature, and where romance is the exclusive property of the poets in the syllabus. The methodology of teaching English is integral to our knowledge and appreciation of the language, and this is a key element in the narrative. However, the play, and the role of the English language, goes far beyond that. English is a legacy gifted us by Lord Macaulay, when in his famous Minute on Indian Education, 2 February 1835, he declared, ‘We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern — a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect. To that class we may leave it to refine the vernacular dialects of the country, to enrich those dialects with terms of science borrowed from the Western nomenclature, and to render them by degrees fit vehicles for conveying knowledge to the great mass of the

235

population.’ For independent India, is that legacy a Trojan horse? English brought with it the promise of democratic ideals, the ordered calm of legal phraseology, and the vocabulary of modern administration, to a land that was fragmented by a thousand identities. But did English also erode the colour and richness of our own many tongues? Today, when English suffuses the world of technology and international commerce, the voiceless Ramanan epitomises the aspirations of many Indians who believe that the knowledge of English would help them transform their lives. And yet, is it possible to convey our Indian sensibility through the imperial language of the British? In Keats was a Tuber, I allowed myself to explore my own relationship with the English language and to express unabashedly my deep love for it. First performed 18 January 1997 Cast Woman Speaker

Raj Dutt

Mr Iyer

Shiv Kumar

Sarala

Munira Sen

Mrs Nathan

Ranita Hirji

Ramanan

K. Raza Hussain

Dr Dennis

Chippy Gangjee

Raghu

Preetam Koilpillai 236

Damini

Rakhi Chaudhuri

Crew Sets design

Ashish Sen, Dominic Taylor

Set execution

Rang Manch

Original music score Preetam Koilpillai Herbert Paul Musicians: Guitar Flute

Herbert Paul Hema Choksi

Keyboard Lawrence Preetam Koilpillai Vocal

Shalini Subramaniam

PercussionVivek Menzel Costumes

Vidya Appaiah Marianne Jacobie

Production management

Nirupa Reshma D’Silva Kartik S. Kumar Gagandeep Chhabra Abhijit Sengupta Anuradha Mundkur Mikhail Sen 237

Latha Ramaswamy Nasreen Taher Direction

Ashish Sen

Act 1 Stage in total darkness except for a single spot downstage right. A WOMAN (about thirty-five) is seen addressing an unseen audience. WOMAN:

It is my privilege to speak to you as a teacher of English from India and to share with you my thoughts and experiences. Thank you for inviting me to this forum; I am honoured.

Pause. English is not my language. It is not the language that my grandparents and parents speak at home. In fact, I do not think I knew anything of English before I went to school. But my parents, born when India was still a British colony, attributed the glory of the British to the power of their language and sent me when I was five to a school run by Franciscan nuns. My fifth birthday calculated according to the ascension of my birthstar and celebrated at our family temple, was, or so I believed for a long time, my last birthday as an Indian. Pause.

238

English is now the language of my thoughts, it is the language of my reason, the language I use for loving. My perceptions are finer, my judgements more subtle, the range and depth of my emotions seem to be much greater in this language than in any other. What is it then that I and all those like me have inherited? A language, merely? A mode of communication that is functional in many, perhaps in most, parts of the world? Or have we inherited an entire civilisation, an alien sensibility that has seduced us from the culture to which we were born? Have we been enchanted so as to wander forever homeless? Spot off. Scene 1. The rest of the stage lights up. We see the shoddy staff room of a provincial college. A large, ugly round table with curved legs dominates stage centre. The table is bare. The chairs are straight backed, uncomfortable, of irregular sizes, and placed randomly. There is a smaller rectangular table next to one of the chairs, also bare. Upstage left are two high steel shelf racks filled untidily with books, notebooks, ledgers, loose sheets of paper, a large box of chalk and a bottle of ink. There is a ray of light falling diagonally across the room, brilliantly lighting up whatever lies in its path and leaving other areas in semi-darkness. The door to the staffroom is upstage left of centre. It is an old-fashioned half door with two flaps that swing wildly and which cover only the middle of the door space. Consequently, the head and legs of anyone

239

on the other side can be seen; the legs alone if it is someone short. MR IYER enters. He is tall, spare but vital, in his late forties, dressed formally in a light suit and tie, carrying a leather case which he places on the round table, then noticing something on the floor, picks it up. It is a rectangular piece of polished wood, with the words ‘Eng. Dept’ painted on it in white. It has obviously fallen down or been knocked down from outside the door. MR IYER runs his right palm across it and places it carefully on one of the shelves. A bell is heard clanging. Enter MISS SARALA in an almighty hurry. She is about twenty-seven, wears a shimmery sari, a fussy, embroidered blouse with long sleeves, a good deal of gold jewellery. She has a large red dot on her forehead, flowers in her hair and carries a cloth bag stuffed with books. She goes up to one of the shelves and hunts for something. IYER:

Is it your attendance register that you are looking for, Sarala?

SARALA:

Oh! Yes. Yes sir. I was finding it but …

IYER:

(Gently.) You mean you were looking for it but couldn’t find it … I believe all the attendance registers have been taken to the office for calculating the students’ attendance records. Were you not aware of this? 240

SARALA:

Yes. Oh yes, yes. Mrs Nathan told me. But I just forgot. So many things that I have to remember. And doing detailed plus non-detailed this year, I …

IYER:

Do you find your work load too heavy, Sarala? Would you like me to speak to Mrs Nathan about it?

SARALA:

Sir? No, sir. I … so grateful … I …. If I ask you sometimes, some passages that you can explain … with your experience and knowledge then …

IYER:

(Withdraws slightly. Opens his case and takes out a notebook.) Certainly. But if you are meeting the Commerce section for the first hour, you should be on your way. You are already five minutes behind.

SARALA:

Oh yes! Yes sir! (Looks into her bag, pulls out a couple of dog-eared books, goes up to the door, hesitates, then returns to get some chalk.) Sir! That book you gave me, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, her poetry, it is so beautiful, sir. So much … so much emotion … so much … (Pause.) … emotion …

Silence. SARALA:

I should go, sir. The students must be … (Goes towards door and almost

241

collides with MRS NATHAN who is entering.) Oh! I am so sorry. Really sorry. I was going to class … NATHAN:

Late. Always late, Sarala. Even after three years of being a lecturer.

SARALA:

It was just that I did not get a bus and …

NATHAN:

Then you should start early. What kind of example are you setting the students?

SARALA:

I am sorry. I … (Exits quickly.)

Silence. IYER is writing meticulously into the notebook. NATHAN sits at the smaller table and places her handbag and books on it. She is a small made woman, about forty-five. Her white sari is very crisp, her white blouse and bare forehead proclaim her widowed state. She wears no jewellery except for a thin gold chain around her neck and two bangles on her left arm. She notices the name board on the shelf. NATHAN:

I find the board has fallen off yet again.

IYER:

(Not looking up.) Yes.

NATHAN:

Have you told Ramanan?

IYER:

No. Not yet.

NATHAN:

goes to the door and looks out.

242

NATHAN:

Ramanan! Ramanan! Not here as usual. (Signals to someone outside.) You. Yes you. B.Com. first year, aren’t you? Yes. You know our peon Ramanan? Yes. Ask him to come here immediately. To the English department. Hurry up. (Returns to table.) He should have at least cleaned the room. Look at the dust here … Tcha! … (A long pause.) We are getting somebody in Mrs Kichu’s place. (She has got his attention at last.)

IYER:

For a mere three months?

NATHAN:

It maybe a mere three months but there is enough work. You cannot expect me to handle all her classes in addition to my own.

IYER:

That is not what I was suggesting.

NATHAN:

And you think Sarala can take both the first and the third years, that too the BAs? As it is, she keeps grumbling about the timetable she has. As for Dr Dennis …

IYER:

When is this lady coming?

NATHAN:

Who? The leave vacancy? … (Laughs in a rather metallic way.) What makes you think it is a woman?

243

(IYER does not respond.) I suppose you think that only a silly woman would … Enter RAMANAN, a bustling but generally ineffectual middle-aged man. He cannot speak but can hear perfectly well. He wears a khaki uniform, large, baggy shorts and an ill-fitting jacket and has a large, untidy smear of holy ash across his forehead. He goes up to IYER, greets him and then stands to attention facing MRS NATHAN. NATHAN:

So there you are, Ramanan. Where were you, if I may ask? (RAMANAN gestures.) In the office, is it? They are still cutting your salary? Alright. Alright. Since that daily ritual is over, you can do some work now …. The board has been taken off again.

RAMANAN darts to the shelf, picks up the board, goes out and darts back again. He thumps the board and gestures violently. IYER:

I agree. Somebody seems to have knocked it down deliberately. One of the nails is bent.

NATHAN:

I have got sick and tired of this nonsense. First they spray ink on it, then they draw obscene pictures, now … (Stands up.) Ramanan. Give me

244

that board. I will take it to the office and fling it in their faces. We don’t need it. RAMANAN does not move. NATHAN:

Give it, I say.

RAMANAN looks at IYER. IYER:

Perhaps we should not admit defeat that easily.

Silence. MRS NATHAN does not speak, then after a moment, she sits down again. RAMANAN smiles, evidently with relief, touches his forehead to IYER and exits. Silence. Then … IYER:

This addition to the staff. When does he join?

NATHAN:

Tomorrow.

IYER:

Tomorrow?

NATHAN:

Yes.

IYER:

The arrangements seem to have been made more quickly than I would have thought possible.

NATHAN:

Yes.

245

IYER:

I presume you did not think it fit to inform your colleagues of your decision.

NATHAN:

What do you expect me to do? Call a departmental meeting every time I sneeze? Why should I consult my colleagues for every small thing? …

IYER:

That is the usual procedure for a new appointment.

NATHAN:

Well, in this case, I felt I could take a decision on my own. I talked to the university before Mrs Kichu went on leave, they approved of the candidate, they …

IYER:

You are acquainted with the candidate, I gather.

NATHAN:

Yes. I know him. He is a sort of distant nephew. (Defiantly.) In fact, he is my only sister’s only son.

IYER:

I see.

NATHAN:

What do you see? Tell me, what do you see? You don’t have a family, you don’t have any obligations, family obligations, you have no idea what it means to have to …

Pause.

246

NATHAN:

He will be very good for the department, let me tell you. In fact, we should feel privileged that he is coming here at all. He is an MA first class first.

IYER:

Is there any particular reason that he should want to work in a college such as ours? In a small, outof-the-way town and for a mere three months?

NATHAN:

He has applied to a Canadian university for his PhD and he is waiting for their reply. In between, he though he could get some work experience.

IYER:

I see. He seems to be an exceptionally …

NATHAN:

Oh yes. He is very exceptional. Right from the time he was a child. I am not saying this because he is my nephew but he is very, very intelligent. My brother-in-law wanted him to go for the IAS but you know this younger generation has its own ideas. The boy decided that he wants to stay in the teaching business.

Pause. IYER:

You misunderstand. I was about to say that your nephew is exceptionally fortunate.

Pause.

247

NATHAN:

Then let me tell you something, Mr Iyer. He is capable of teaching even us, all of us in the department. He has read the latest English literature books. He will be like a new wind that sweeps us clean.

IYER:

I believe it is usually a new broom that performs that function.

NATHAN:

A broom, a wind, a ventilator. What does it matter? At least we will have a new face to see and a …

Enter DR DENNIS. He is dressed in rusty black trousers, a black coat and could be mistaken for a small-time lawyer. He is, even at this time of the morning, very slightly inebriated. DENNIS:

What is this about a new face? Let me not to the marriage of new faces admit impediments …

NATHAN:

My nephew is joining the staff.

DENNIS:

Ah! Prepare to meet thy doom. Beware, beware his flashing eyes, his flowing hair … How long do you think he will survive in our little Hades?

NATHAN:

He will be here for three months and I hope, Dr Dennis, that you will not make him regret coming to us.

248

DENNIS:

Mrs Nathan, you wound me. You do me grievous injury. Does she not, Iyer? … Iyer? … Iyer is into higher things. Let us sit on the ground, Nathan, and talk instead of the death of the English Department … the …

NATHAN:

Dr Dennis, the floor is very dirty. Please get up and get ready for your class.

DENNIS:

Ah yes. Class. Fifty-five empty vessels to be filled with immortal longings. Must I go or shall I stay … Which is it to be oh Queen who walks in such authority, which is it to …

RAMANAN rushes in with a broom, very excited. He gestures violently as usual. DENNIS:

Our Feste has festered further. I cannot comprehend his communication though it is riveting.

NATHAN:

What are you saying, Ramanan? I can’t make out anything at all. Really, this is too much.

IYER:

It seems a stranger has arrived with a suitcase and is, at the moment, in the Principal’s chambers, inquiring for you, Mrs Nathan.

NATHAN:

For me? Who could it be? Don’t tell me it is … 249

IYER:

Your nephew?

NATHAN:

But he was supposed to come only tomorrow. Why is here today itself? This is very strange. Ramanan, are you sure he was asking for me? Or did you just hear half of what was going on and …

IYER:

Mrs Nathan, please compose yourself. May I suggest that you step across and welcome your nephew on our behalf.

NATHAN:

But he told me he was taking the Mail … he must have … excuse me … I must go …

Enter RAGHU KRISHNAN. He is about twenty-five, but looks younger and with the kind of freshness that some men retain all their lives. The uncharitable would call him immature, childish, but a kinder judgement would be that he seems to carry about him the conviction and the excitement that he has been born to change the world. He does not look upon others with scorn; nevertheless, he thinks himself superior. He is dressed in ethnic clothes, kurta pyjama, slippers and has evidently had a tiring journey. RAGHU:

Ah! English voices, at last. Thought I would never get here.

NATHAN:

Raghu! I thought you were arriving tomorrow.

250

RAGHU:

But I’m here today! … Surprise! … Isn’t that just like me? So this is your department. And you must be Mr Iyer … Dr Dennis, I presume (He gets it right.) and this is Ramanan … I am Krishnan. (The men shake hands, including RAMANAN.)

NATHAN:

Ramanan, why are you standing there like a fool? Put the suitcase in a corner, turn the fan on faster. Raghu, you want some water or something … you must be so hungry. I have the next hour otherwise … I wanted to put in a day’s casual leave tomorrow …

IYER:

Mrs Nathan, I was about to suggest that Ramanan escort Mr Krishnan to your rooms where he could wash and change.

NATHAN:

I was going to say exactly that. Raghu, here are my keys. My quarters are nearby, in the same compound actually. There is some food in the kitchen and …

RAGHU:

Dr Dennis, you haven’t said a word to me. Are you being superior or is it something else?

DENNIS:

Superior! Why should I be superior? It is the east and you are the sun.

251

RAGHU:

In other words, I look too young. Mr Iyer, is that what you think too?

NATHAN:

Don’t be silly, Raghu. Nobody thinks anything. Come now, go with Ramanan. He will take you to …

A gong is heard. NATHAN:

Oh my god! I have to go. Raghu, will you be alright? Otherwise I will give the class some written work and …

RAGHU:

Well, Mr Iyer?

IYER:

(Smiling.) We are barely acquainted, Mr Krishnan.

RAGHU:

(Laughing.) Acquainted! Haven’t heard the word for a century. Acquainted. A quaint word! A Trollope word. Do you read a lot of Trollope, Mr Iyer?

NATHAN:

Raghu, I have to go and Ramanan is waiting. Please …

IYER:

Trollope is a writer with style and wisdom.

RAGHU:

But nobody in his right senses reads him any more, Mr Iyer. He has not been in a university syllabus for god knows how long. Do you read Trollope too, Dr D?

NATHAN:

Raghu! I …

252

Enter SARALA, breathlessly. SARALA:

Mrs Nathan! Your class is waiting. One of them asked me if … Oh!

RAGHU:

Ms Sarala! Hello! I am your obedient servant … Oh no! I’ve caught the Trollope virus … Sarala, I am Raghu, your new colleague.

SARALA:

But nobody told me that …

RAGHU:

You have a new colleague? Now you do. Happy?

MRS NATHAN has been talking to RAMANAN and now hands him her keys and what seems to be some money as well. NATHAN:

Raghu, I’m leaving the keys with Ramanan. He will take you when you are ready. I have to go. Dr Dennis, you have a class also, don’t you? And Sarala, didn’t you want to go the library? You wanted to look up something on …

SARALA:

But that was last week, Mrs Nathan. I told you I could not find anything.

NATHAN:

Our library is so useless. Dr Dennis, shall we go?

DR DENNIS gets up and goes to the door. MRS NATHAN is reluctant to leave.

253

NATHAN:

Raghu, I wish you would …

There is no response from RAGHU. MRS NATHAN and DR DENNIS exit. RAGHU:

I find that amazing, really amazing. Does he do this everyday?

IYER does not respond. SARALA:

What, Mr Raghu?

RAGHU:

Raghu.

SARALA:

Huh?

RAGHU:

Just call me Raghu. I was wondering about Dr D … Dr Dennis. Does he always go to class without books?

SARALA:

Oh Dr Dennis! He is very senior. He has been a lecturer for twenty, twenty-one years.

RAGHU:

So he knows all his stuff is it?

SARALA:

The syllabus is the same, you know. It has not changed for so many years. Dr Dennis … he has all the notes from those days itself…. He is a very good lecturer.

RAGHU:

And you, Sarala?

SARALA:

What?

RAGHU:

Are you a good lecturer too? 254

SARALA:

I don’t know … I can’t make out … I …

Enter RAMANAN, gesticulating. SARALA:

What, Ramanan? You want to know … what … ?

IYER:

(Abruptly.) Ramanan wants to know whether Mr Krishnan is ready to be escorted to his aunt’s rooms.

SARALA:

Aunt?

RAGHU:

Mrs Nathan. Sorry Mr Iyer, I realise I offend you by not being clean and wholesome. I’m coming Ramanan. Just one minute okay?

RAMANAN grins and exits. RAGHU stands up to go. SARALA:

(Stands up too, frightened.) You are Mrs Nathan’s nephew?

RAGHU:

Didn’t you realise that? She was behaving so avuncular, or auntuncular, if you like.

SARALA:

Her only nephew?

RAGHU:

As far as I know, yes. Why?

SARALA:

But you … she told me you …

RAGHU:

(No longer flippant.) Told you what? What has my aunt been saying?

255

SARALA:

Nothing. Nothing. Just …

RAGHU:

(Angry.) What has that woman been babbling?

IYER stands up. IYER:

Mr Krishnan!

SARALA:

I told you … it’s nothing … I …

There is a tap at the door and DAMINI, a young girl, enters. She carries a pile of books and is obviously a student but entirely self-possessed. She walks straight up to MR IYER without glancing around her. RAGHU switches his attention completely from SARALA to DAMINI. DAMINI:

I’m sorry I’m late, sir. I had to return some books to the library. Where shall I sit?

IYER:

Who asked you to come in here?

DAMINI:

You asked me to, sir. You said this was the quietest place in the college for any kind of intellectual discussion.

IYER:

Yes. Of course. But that was last week, if I remember right.

DAMINI:

Yes sir.

IYER:

Pick up your books.

DAMINI:

Sir?

256

IYER:

Let us go and look for an empty classroom. Aren’t some of those smaller rooms free at this time?

DAMINI:

We had to cancel last week’s discussion, sir, because we could not find any place.

IYER:

Nevertheless, we shall search again. Come on.

IYER opens the door for DAMINI and follows her out. RAGHU:

(Sits down again.) Who was that?

SARALA:

(Standing well away from him.) What?

RAGHU:

That … that girl. Who is she?

SARALA:

Damini? She is in third year BA.

RAGHU:

Is she the only student in third year BA?

SARALA:

Of course not. I think there are sixty-two or sixty-three students.

RAGHU whistles in amazement. SARALA:

There are seventy students in my class, in first year.

RAGHU:

But this girl … Is she being given some special coaching or something?

257

SARALA:

Damini? No, not special coaching like that. She is doing Elective English third year.

RAGHU:

Oh, I see. That’s interesting.

SARALA:

Yes.

RAGHU:

(Suddenly switching his attention back.) Hey! You are upset with me. I shouted at you. I’m sorry. I really am.

Silence. RAGHU:

(Going up, taking her by the hand.) Look Sarala … may I call you Sarala, please?

SARALA:

(Disengages her hand.) You called me Sarala from the very first minute you saw me.

RAGHU:

Ah! And do you know why? Do you realise why I called you by your name almost at once? No? Because … because Sarala …

Enter MRS NATHAN. NATHAN:

Raghu! You are still here? … What are you doing?

RAGHU:

I was merely talking to Sarala. What have you said to frighten the poor girl? Your usual hair-raising gossip?

258

NATHAN:

Sarala!

RAGHU:

No. No. Sarala has said nothing. She looks at me with total terror, that’s all.

NATHAN:

Raghu! I warned you. If you want to work here, you have to observe certain rules and regulations. Mr Iyer …

RAGHU:

That same tune! I heard it throughout the summer. Mr Iyer this … Mr Iyer that …

SARALA:

Please don’t say anything against Mr Iyer.

RAGHU:

Oh, so you are in the club too!

NATHAN:

Raghu! I have got you this appointment after a lot of effort. Just for you to escape from …

RAGHU:

I did not want to escape! Or even need to! It is all something that you and your sister have created.

NATHAN:

Your mother asked me … begged me … to get you this post. I went out of my way for you…. But this not the place to discuss such things.

RAGHU:

So now I have to behave myself.

Silence. RAGHU:

259

Miss Sarala, what did my aunt say about me? SARALA:

She …

RAGHU:

Yes?

SARALA:

(Suddenly.) Why don’t you ask her herself? I have to go to the library.

SARALA picks up some books randomly and exits. RAGHU:

She is really scared of me, isn’t she?

NATHAN:

She is an unmarried girl, Raghu. She has lived in this small town all her life. She has not seen or even heard of anyone like you.

RAGHU:

And now because of whatever you have told her, she won’t even look at me. What does she think I’ll do? Throw her down and rape her?

Enter IYER. He stands at the door. IYER:

Mrs Nathan! I thought you had a class.

NATHAN:

Oh! Yes. Yes, I do have a class. I gave them some work and came. I wanted to see if Raghu was …

IYER:

Ramanan has been waiting for some while. And I would be grateful if I could have the staffroom …

260

NATHAN:

Damini! Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Iyer. You told me last week. Raghu! You have to go. Come on.

RAGHU shrugs his shoulders and saunters out while IYER holds the door open. MRS NATHAN follows RAGHU out. IYER:

Damini! Please come in here. Damini!

DAMINI enters, looking a little confused, a little self-conscious. She sits at the large table. After a moment, IYER sits too. IYER:

Pride and Prejudice, isn’t it?

DAMINI:

Sir? Yes. Yes, sir. I wanted to discuss that question that keeps coming … something about … oh here it is, sir. Justify the title of the book, Pride and Prejudice.

IYER:

Yes, that is a favourite question. And have you thought about it at all?

DAMINI:

Well sir … I … I thought it was a very obvious title, sir.

IYER:

I see. And what makes you feel it is an obvious title?

DAMINI:

Well, sir … Both Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet are prejudiced about each other in the beginning. And Mr Darcy, especially, is a very proud man, sir. 261

IYER:

Is he really? A proud man?

DAMINI:

Sir, they all say that he is proud. Mrs Bennet and … Anyway sir, he also acts very proudly.

IYER:

In what way?

DAMINI:

Well sir, he doesn’t talk, he refuses to dance with Elizabeth Bennet and …

IYER:

Do you like him?

DAMINI:

Sir, how can I like him? He thinks so highly of himself. He is so proud. I wanted to …

IYER:

So you are prejudiced too?

DAMINI:

Sir?

IYER:

When you began reading the book, did you know anything about its contents?

DAMINI:

No, sir. You told me not to look at any critical notes or comments before I read the book. You say that every year, sir. Read the text, Damini. Read the text first.

IYER:

(Laughs.) And you dare not disobey!

DAMINI:

No, sir.

IYER:

Good! So you brought a fresh, unprejudiced mind to the book. And what happened then?

262

DAMINI:

I…

IYER:

You took a strong dislike to Mr Darcy.

DAMINI:

Yes, sir. And I also disliked Mr Bingley.

IYER:

That’s interesting! I would have thought Mr Bingley was the answer to every young girl’s dream.

DAMINI:

I don’t think so, sir. He is so … so weak and he changes his mind and he allows other people to influence him. He is just like my uncle.

IYER:

I see.

DAMINI:

Yes sir. You should see my uncle, sir. He believes every word my aunty says. She makes up such lies about us, sir, and he believes her.

IYER:

And what has happened as a result?

DAMINI:

So now he never comes to see us, sir. Earlier, before he got married, he used to come to our house two or three times a week but now … You remember in the book, sir, Mr Bingley goes away without any proper explanations and poor Jane, how she cries!

IYER:

(Wryly.) I think I remember.

DAMINI:

Well sir, it just shows that if you have a prejudice, you can prejudice other people also. 263

IYER:

Carry on.

DAMINI:

So Mr Bingley is prejudiced. And his sisters are prejudiced right from the beginning. And so is Mrs Bennet, and that horrible Mr Collins and Wickham of course …. they all seem to have been prejudiced, sir. In one way or another.

IYER:

Can you think of anyone you know who is without prejudice?

DAMINI:

In my own life? (Thinks.) No Sir, actually I can’t. I am prejudiced too.

IYER:

About Mr Darcy?

DAMINI:

And about my uncle. And about a lot of other people also, sir. Take Sarala madam, sir … I think she …

IYER:

Let us leave my colleagues out of this, please.

DAMINI:

Sorry sir. It is just that sometimes teachers make a lot of difference, sir. They can prejudice you so much. Last year we had a sonnet of Wordsworth ‘Upon Westminster Bridge’ …

IYER:

Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty:

Silence.

264

DAMINI:

It sounds so beautiful when you say it like that, sir. But when madam … when we did it in Core English class last year, I hated the poem, sir. I wanted to ask why we should study it.

RAGHU has returned and can be seen by the audience standing behind the door. He is unnoticed by those on stage. DAMINI:

Why should I study something written by some Englishman who is talking about some bridge in London that I have never seen? If I write a poem ‘Upon Howrah Bridge’, will it be included in the English syllabus?

IYER:

(Gently.) You have opted for a study of English literature, so you have to read the work that English minds have produced.

DAMINI:

I know. I used to be very silly those days …. But I know something else too, sir. I … I have realised that literature goes beyond the question of language. It has to do more with … with experience, I think. With what a poet or somebody with that kind of mind sees or feels. Wordsworth saw something utterly beautiful and he wrote about it in the only language he knew.

IYER is visibly moved. 265

DAMINI:

You taught me that, sir. (Pause.) Thank you.

Pause. IYER:

I think we should return to Austen. We were talking about prejudice, that it is much more widespread in the book than you had, at first, thought. And prejudice can creep into us even before we realise it. It can lead to war.

DAMINI:

Yes sir. Like … like Hitler and the German people.

IYER:

Prejudice can be annihilating. What about pride? Is it Darcy alone who is proud or do you think there are others too?

DAMINI:

Well, Lady Catherine is terribly proud but she is related to Mr Darcy so it may be in the family … But now when I think of it sir, Mr Bennet is also very proud. At least, he feels that he is superior … more intelligent than anybody else. Do … you agree with that sir? … Sir?

IYER:

Yes? Yes. I do agree. I am sorry I appeared a little distracted … Now, what makes Darcy appear proud?

DAMINI:

That’s easy, sir. It’s his wealth. Haven’t you seen all these rich people when they come out of their houses, sir? I have a 266

friend whose father has lots and lots of money. Do you know how she behaves, sir? She walks as if she has never put her feet on the ground. Like this … (Stands up, turns around and notices RAGHU.) Oh! (Sits down abruptly.) IYER:

What … (Stands.) Mr Krishnan!

RAGHU enters. RAGHU:

Sorry! I’m sorry. I did not want to interrupt. I wanted merely to find out my class schedule … the … the timetable. I thought my … that Mrs Nathan would be here.

IYER:

You are interrupting a class in progress, Mr Krishnan. That cannot be easily forgiven.

RAGHU:

I did say I’m sorry, didn’t I? Anyway it seemed more like a … like an animated conversation than a class in progress.

IYER:

Damini.

DAMINI:

Sir?

IYER:

I have written down, quite at random, a few points you could consider when you re-read the text. In addition, I have made out a list of books that you should read. If you do not find them in the

267

college library, you could borrow them from me. DAMINI:

Thank you, sir.

RAGHU:

I have brought a whole lot of books down with me. In fact, I have some of the latest critical work on …

IYER:

I shall expect a term paper from you in about a fortnight. If you need to discuss anything more, please let me know.

DAMINI:

But we had not finished …

IYER:

Yes, we have. We have finished, for the moment.

DAMINI:

Yes, sir.

DAMINI exits. Silence … then … RAGHU:

I did not like the tone of voice you used with me Mr Iyer, especially in front of a student. I am a member of this department, after all. A colleague.

IYER:

You are no colleague of mine till you have proved yourself.

RAGHU:

Is that a threat?

IYER:

If you choose to think so.

Pause.

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RAGHU:

Mr Iyer, I have barely been here an hour. I have, so far, met only the Principal and the members of this department. You and I have not exchanged more than a dozen words with each other. And yet, you treat me with a disdain that comes with years of familiarity. How do you explain that?

Silence. RAGHU:

You know the answer, don’t you? You know it but you are afraid to say it. You say it, it gets a name. And then where is the forgiveness?

Pause. RAGHU:

When my aunt arrives, Mr Iyer, will you tell her that I have gone to cleanse myself? Thank you.

Blackout. End of Scene 1. Scene 2. Two weeks later. The staff room, a tad tidier. RAGHU and RAMANAN are sitting at the centre table. RAMANAN is writing laboriously on a slate.

269

RAGHU:

That’s right. C .. O .. F … another F.. E.. another E. C.O.F.F.E.E coffee. Gone for coffee. Good! What else do you want to learn?

RAMANAN gestures. RAGHU:

Food? Gone for food? No? Gone for … for lunch? No? What? Starts with a T? … With a T? Gone for … gone for … what could it be? T … tiffin? TIFFIN? Of course, tiffin. How could I forget? Come on write … T .. I ..

Enter MRS NATHAN. She carries a large pile of notebooks, on top of which totters an attendance ledger and a stout textbook. NATHAN:

Ramanan! I have been calling you and calling you and this is where you are. Learning English instead of attending to your duty. (Sets the books down on her table with a crash.) Go! There are some more books in the second year class. Bring them …. Learning English …

RAMANAN hugs his slate to his chest and exits. NATHAN:

Seventy grammar books to correct and a staff meeting in the afternoon. I am going mad.

270

RAGHU:

I can help you with the corrections.

NATHAN:

You! What grammar have you learnt? You don’t know the difference between a gerund and a present participle.

RAGHU:

Is there a difference?

NATHAN:

Raghu, why don’t you get ready for your class? You have to take third year non-detailed next hour, am I right?

RAGHU:

Unfortunately.

NATHAN:

And I beg of you, don’t give them grand lectures on communism and Karl Marx and what not.

RAGHU:

Why shouldn’t I do that? I am expanding their minds, helping them grow, that’s what teaching is about. Real teaching. Not this cramming and vomiting out that you and your colleagues expect them to do. Memorise! By heart! Mug up! (Chants.) Keats was a tuber … Keats was a tuber … Keats was a tuber … culosis patient … culosis patient … Is that all you can tell them about Keats? That he had tuberculosis?

RAMANAN staggers in with another pile of notebooks, dumps them on MRS NATHAN’s table and wipes his head exaggeratedly.

271

NATHAN:

Ramanan! Is this the way? Put the books on that shelf. One by one. Don’t mix them up.

RAGHU:

Have you ever bothered to notice what kind of prose has been selected for this non-detailed stuff? Charles Lamb’s essay, ‘A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig’ … That’s what I have to teach today. I have to take apart Lamb’s delicate whimsy to boys and girls who are first generation literate. And worse, much worse, I have to talk about the mouth-watering and irresistible taste of crackling of roast pork to a group of students, a great many of whom don’t eat meat and over half of whom are Muslim. (Lights dim.) ‘A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig’?

Blackout. Spot on WOMAN downstage right. WOMAN: The history of my land, the geographical and political entity that is now India, has been slashed with invasions. Through those treacherous mountain passes in the north-west of my country, have come hordes of fierce, sword-flashing Turks, Mongols and Afghans who have thundered down to the rich plains of middle and western India, looted and plundered and vanished. But some who came remained to

272

rule. Qutubuddin Aibak, Ghiyasuddin Tughluk, Bahlul Lodi and Babar … the first of the great Mughals. And all over India, I can see their fingerprints still, their towers, their cities, their great mosques, their tombs … the Qutub Minar, Fatehpur Sikri, the Taj Mahal. Their voices echo in the languages I hear, I taste their seasoning in the food I eat. I claim them as my own. Why is it then that the English legacy divides my being so unbearably? How can I transport myself among the darling buds of May when the sun scorches brown my country and my people? No woman in India would like to be compared to a summer’s day. Spot off. Lights on staffroom. RAGHU:

Don’t you protest about this kind of boorishness? Who are these textbook editors? Who recommends these books?

NATHAN:

It is all useless, Raghu. Please believe me. Mr Iyer has been writing to the university people for the past five or six years. They don’t even acknowledge.

RAGHU:

And in the meanwhile, we continue to thrust this down our students’ throats?

NATHAN:

What to do? … We have to finish the syllabus, isn’t it? Now please let me 273

finish my correcting work otherwise I do not know what will happen. RAGHU:

How can you just there and accept it? You are now the head of the department. You should write, not Mr Iyer.

NATHAN:

My god! Look at this girl’s spellings. At this rate I myself will forget what I know of English.

RAGHU:

Listen! Shall I draft the letter for you? You’ll merely have to sign it.

NATHAN:

Raghu, please do not go on and on disturbing me.

RAGHU:

You just have to sign the letter. It’s a moment’s work. Even less. I’ll start off on the letter right away.

NATHAN:

(Controlling herself with effort.) Raghu, listen to me. All this is a department matter. I cannot send off a letter just like that. I have to consult my colleagues.

RAGHU:

Then consult them. Consult them today. Now.

NATHAN:

(Exasperated.) You think it is so easy, isn’t it? You come here with your big words and your big ideas and you want us all to run around you. Who do you think you are? In one week, you have 274

turned everything upside down. The students are asking stupid questions all the time, they do not pay proper attention, every evening you go to Dr Dennis’ house and make him drink and drink and what you are doing to Sarala … I have no idea. RAGHU:

I have merely told her my version of the story.

NATHAN:

And she has believed you?

RAGHU:

It is not difficult to believe the truth.

Silence. RAGHU:

I can see you are not convinced that I am innocent. Neither is your sister.

NATHAN:

We want to believe you. My god, how much we want to believe you. But how can we? That poor girl was sure you were serious about her. What about that big packet of letters that she showed your mother? Letters you had written to her.

RAGHU:

Letters I had written long ago.

NATHAN:

Love letters.

RAGHU:

How do you define love letters? I don’t remember having used more than one

275

‘sweetheart’ and a couple of ‘darlings’. Does that constitute a love letter? NATHAN:

You told her about your plans, your dreams, your hopes. Why should you talk about all that if you did not want to marry her?

Silence. RAGHU:

I spoke to a friend, a comrade. Yes, there was a bit of love talk but for god’s sake, I thought she knew the ground rules. It was only a little flirtation.

NATHAN:

You think life is just a game, don’t you? You hit so many balls, you make so many points, finished. Then you can come home and talk and talk about how you won.

RAGHU:

Does everything about life have to be dismal and moralistic? Can’t we have some fun while we are it?

NATHAN:

Fun! That is all you think of. Fun! This is what comes of your so-called English education. Your head is filled with nonsense ideas about girls running after boys and boys running after other girls. In our country, girls do not run after boys. We are not brought up that way, let me tell you.

276

RAGHU:

If you think I did wrong, then why do you protect me? Why did you insist that I come here?

NATHAN:

Because that girl’s father was going to make life hell for you. He was going to force you to marry his daughter. And, whatever you have done, you are my sister’s son.

RAGHU:

Family obligations.

NATHAN:

I have to keep my head up in front of society.

RAGHU:

Nothing like caring or … or affection …

NATHAN:

My sister wants to see you fixed up before you leave India. Who will come with marriage proposals if they hear of this stupid story?

RAGHU:

Society is cruel and hard and judgemental. (Pause.) And we are all part of society. He, she, you, me. All part of that cruel, judgemental society.

SARALA enters. confident.

She

looks

brighter,

more

SARALA:

Oh Raghu, I gave those books to Damini. She was very thankful.

NATHAN:

What books?

277

RAGHU:

Nothing much. Some books on Austen. Ah! That’s the other thing I wanted to discuss. The library. Can’t we revamp the whole place? It’s like the black hole of Calcutta.

SARALA:

What is that?

RAGHU:

The black hole of Calcutta? You haven’t heard of it? It was when the British were here and …

NATHAN:

Why are you giving books to Damini? She is Mr Iyer’s student.

RAGHU:

Is there anything wrong giving a student a few books of criticism? She seems to be a very intelligent girl and sensitive to literature. Unlike the kind of students I have.

SARALA:

Oh, you should just see how they write, Raghu. My remedial class don’t know how to use English words at all. Today, I wanted them to write about a college excursion. See what this student has written … one one boy sat on one one cycle.

SARALA and RAGHU laugh. RAGHU:

And one one boy had one one fall.

SARALA:

And one one girl had one one fruit.

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RAGHU:

What what you say that that only I will listen …

NATHAN:

Enough! Quite enough! Don’t you have some shame? These students have come from poor families. Their parents are educating them with great difficulty. They think if these children learn English they stand a better chance of getting jobs. And here you are making fun of them. Raghu, what is gone wrong with you? Just now you were shouting about Charles Lamb and now …

Enter Mr IYER and DR DENNIS. They both look hot and tired. DENNIS:

What about Charles Lamb? Did he who made the lamb make the pig?

RAGHU:

Ah! Dr D … how was the match?

DENNIS:

For want of a catch, the match was lost.

IYER:

We had lost much earlier.

DENNIS:

Was it a four? Was it not? Do I live or do I rot?

IYER:

The penultimate ball went clearly over the boundary line. If you had granted those four runs as you should have,

279

they would have won with a ball to spare. DENNIS:

Just a game, Iyer. They were winning anyway. I merely wanted to give the boys an exciting, cliffhanging finish. For something to talk about.

IYER:

There are rules to every game and we are all obliged to respect those rules.

DENNIS:

Spoken like a true sportsman. Sorry Iyer. The ‘igher you go, the lower I fall … Rags, why are you looking earnest? It doesn’t suit you.

RAGHU:

I crave your indulgence, gentle sir. Since we are all here, may I bring a couple of things to your attention?

NATHAN:

Raghu, this is not the way. I have to convene a meeting, draw up the agenda, issue notice …

RAGHU:

First of all, this non-detailed text. It should be banned.

DENNIS:

So we are left no tools to teach with nor no stick neither?

RAGHU:

We put together small prose pieces which allow our students to learn language skills that they can use in their immediate environment.

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SARALA:

(Giggles.) Oh Raghu. sounding so much like sir.

RAGHU:

And we simulate real life situations in the classroom where they have to weave together their knowledge of English vocabulary, sentence structure, the question form and so on.

NATHAN:

Raghu, you are again talking of big issues. We are a small department in a small college. How can we …

DENNIS:

Sigh no more, syllabus, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever.

IYER:

I agree completely with Mr Krishnan. I have long felt that our remedial English students are being assigned work that is far beyond their capacity to do.

SARALA:

Oh yes, sir. You are so very right. Just today I was seeing their written work and …

IYER:

Yes?

SARALA:

No. Nothing, sir.

IYER:

If I may suggest, Mrs Nathan … you could ask for each of our views and incorporate them in a letter to the university. I am certain such a letter would be of some weightage.

NATHAN:

But you have written so many times …

281

You

are

IYER:

I wrote merely to criticise. If I had forwarded alternate teaching methods, as Mr Krishnan has done, I might have been heard.

SARALA:

If we could also ask them to lessen the price of textbooks, sir …

IYER:

Reduce.

SARALA:

Sir?

RAGHU:

That’s a very good idea, Sarala. Maybe we could do away with textbooks altogether.

NATHAN:

We could just have a teacher’s manual or something.

RAGHU:

And use material like newspapers and magazines and advertisements … Real life material. This is terrific. I’m feeling quite excited.

SARALA:

I am also.

DENNIS:

Fly away, fly away breath, university is an old cruel maid.

RAGHU:

Dr D. You haven’t spoken at all. What do you think about this scheme? It’s brilliant, isn’t it?

DENNIS:

Grow cynical along with me, the worst is yet to be. It will not work, Rags. Nothing works in this country except

282

the

rank corruption. Now, if you will excuse me, my throat is parched. DR DENNIS exits. As he opens the door, there is a glimpse of DAMINI standing outside, waiting. RAGHU alone notices her. IYER:

What else did you wish to speak about, Mr Krishnan?

RAGHU:

Sorry? I didn’t quite … oh … oh yes, I remember. The library.

IYER notices DAMINI too. IYER:

The library. Yes. True, it needs to be set right. But I am afraid we will have to postpone that discussion for the moment.

RAGHU:

Why don’t we ask Dami … your student to give us some feedback on the library? Her views would be immensely valuable, wouldn’t you agree? As a student user of the library.

NATHAN:

No, no, Raghu. That kind of thing we do not do in our college. We have never done it in the past.

IYER:

Mrs Nathan, your nephew’s enthusiasm is infectious. I will certainly ask Damini if she could spare us some time to discuss the requirements of the

283

library. But now it is time we all went back to other, more pressing duties. Gong sounds. SARALA:

Oh, oh I am late.

NATHAN:

Sarala, you are attendance register.

forgetting

your

SARALA and MRS NATHAN exit in a rush. Silence, then … RAGHU:

I did not expect you to support me this way. Thank you.

IYER:

I supported the cause.

Pause. RAGHU:

All the same, thank you.

IYER acknowledges the thanks with a small nod. RAGHU exits. He is seen talking to DAMINI as IYER watches. DAMINI enters. DAMINI:

Sorry sir. Mr … Mr Krishnan was talking to me, sir.

IYER:

I noticed.

DAMINI:

I was thanking him, sir. He lent me some books.

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IYER:

Books?

DAMINI:

Yes sir. Books on Jane Austen. Here …

IYER:

(Pushes the books away.) Damini, I cannot emphasise enough the importance of a totally unbiased approach to your text. If you feel you need a more extensive reading list than what I have drawn out, you could always apply to me.

DAMINI:

Yes sir. Thank you. But I did read one … just one of the books he … Mr Krishnan gave me and it is very interesting, sir. It talks about the social conditions in Jane Austen’s time and how difficult it was for women in those days.

IYER:

I would think that the text itself is the best social documentation of the time. Look at the emphasis on marriage and on marriage settlements, particularly. Unless a middle-class woman was financially independent and fairly wealthy in her own right, she dared not remain single. Remember what Charlotte says after Mr Collins proposes to her? (Reads.) ‘Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving 285

happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want.’ An extremely pragmatic young woman, not at all romantic. DAMINI:

(Excited.) That’s difference!

IYER:

Between whom?

DAMINI:

Not between whom, sir, but between what. Between Jane Austen’s novels and these cheap kind of romances in circulating libraries. I have a cousin who reads all these trashy sorts of books and magazine stories and all that. And one day, she picked up Pride and Prejudice and she read it through without putting it down. And then she turned to me and said, ‘This is just like the books I read. It’s so romantic. Why do you say it is literature?’

IYER:

Literature is primarily meant to be enjoyed.

DAMINI:

Yes sir. But then I had an argument with my cousin because she said that if Jane Austen’s novels were called literature, then those other cheap things she reads should also be called literature and I should not make fun of her for reading them.

286

it

sir!

That’s

the

IYER:

Surely everyone has a right to read what they wish.

DAMINI:

No sir, they don’t.

IYER:

Oh! Why do you say that?

DAMINI:

Well sir, if those books were literature, they would be put in the syllabus, at least one or two of that type. But they are not.

IYER:

Carry on.

DAMINI:

Secondly, those books are false. They carry the reader to some fantasy place with fantasy people where all the problems get solved in the end, like magic. And they make the reader feel frustrated because real life is not like that.

IYER:

And Jane Austen?

DAMINI:

That’s the difference, sir. Jane Austen talks of real things like money, marriage settlements, fear of society, that sort of thing. If you had a daughter like Lydia who eloped with a good-for-nothing man, wouldn’t you feel upset? And wouldn’t you worry about what people would say because you had four more daughters still to be married?

287

IYER:

(Laughs.) I am immensely grateful to providence that I was not born Mr Bennet.

DAMINI:

You are laughing at me, sir.

IYER:

No. No. Believe me, I did not mean to … (Stretches his hand out and touches her arm. She stiffens, withdraws.)

Pause. IYER:

I am sorry.

Pause. DAMINI:

Well, that is what I wanted to say. Literature is about real life.

Pause. IYER:

Well, that’s as far as social reality goes. What about … what about imagination? Are you not devaluing the role of imagination in a writer’s craft?

DAMINI:

No, sir, not at all. Imagination is what makes the novel enjoyable. If I gave my cousin a book on social history, you think she would read it? Never … I think, sir, writers are like magicians. They tell you what card you have chosen, as if they can read your mind, they cut people in half and make them whole again, they 288

make people fly, and they make it look very real, like life, and then they say, this is all illusion, just a game … But strangely enough, they also seem to say, there is truth in what we do if you know where to look. Pause. IYER:

And do you know where to look?

DAMINI:

Not yet, sir.

IYER:

But there is a glimmering.

DAMINI:

Yes sir.

Pause. IYER:

What is it, Damini?

DAMINI:

Sir … it’s nothing, sir.

IYER:

Tell me.

Pause. DAMINI:

Sir … sometimes I feel so divided in myself. As if I was two people. I read Jane Austen and Wordsworth and everything they say is like a jewel. And then my family talks to me and they seem to be using words that don’t have any meaning any more. 289

IYER:

I have felt that too.

DAMINI:

And what did you do, sir?

IYER:

I made a choice, a difficult one … I chose my books and spurned the family.

DAMINI:

Oh sir! … Why … why were we born in India?

Blackout. End of Act 1. Act 2 Spot on WOMAN downstage right. WOMAN: The civilised and the elegant among Jane Austen’s characters did not speak of business matters or of filthy lucre. That the second-string hero in Pride and Prejudice, Mr Bingley, had acquired his fortune by trade was entirely forgotten by his upstart sisters. These fine ladies associated only with people of rank ‘and were therefore in every respect, entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others’. Ironically, much of England’s new aristocracy at the time may have consisted of tradesmen who had come to India and made vast fortunes and found, like Mr Bingley, that their wealth protected them from every social stricture. But then the representatives of the East India Company did not pretend to be anything more than businessmen with an eye always on the main chance. If they studied Indian customs or learnt any 290

of the languages, they were doing so to promote commerce. But the concerns changed. Trading could not be isolated from political commitments and a merchant venture, started in 1609, grew to be an empire, of which, in 1877, Queen Victoria was proclaimed Empress. From then on, till 1945, Indian history probably read like British history in most schoolrooms, both in England and on the subcontinent. For the Englishing of India had begun long before this. Lord Cornwallis, Governor General from 1786 to 1793, had already introduced a completely English administrative structure, the foundations of the great civil service that even today operates in India in much the same way as it did under British rule. But there were other matters that needed examining too. The natives of the subjugated land had also to be educated, but how was this to be done? What medium of instruction would be best in a country with such a bewildering variety of languages? In 1835, Lord Macaulay, Law Member of the Council of the Governor General, in his ‘Minute on Education’ wrote: ‘We have to educate a people who cannot at present, be educated by means of their mother tongue. We must teach them some foreign language. The claims of our own language it is hardly necessary to recapitulate …. Whether we look at the intrinsic value of our literature or at the particular situation of this country, we shall see the

291

strongest reason to think that, of all foreign languages, the English tongue is that which would be the most useful to our native subjects….’ In a single terse sentence, Lord Bentinck gave his entire concurrence to the sentiments expressed in the Minute. Thus was born, in Macaulay’s words: ‘a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals and in intellect’. And thus I was formed, wearing Macaulay motley, my skin brown, my mind English pale. Scene 1. Twelve weeks later. MRS NATHAN is at her table, writing. SARALA is standing near one of the shelves, turning the pages of a large book. SARALA:

Oh no! It says the same thing here also…. Now what should I do? (Pause.) Mrs Nathan?

NATHAN:

What, Sarala? I am busy.

SARALA:

Sorry, Mrs Nathan. Just one small question. It is really confusing me, otherwise I will not disturb you.

NATHAN:

If it is about the question paper that you set, Sarala, I have corrected it and sent it to the office.

SARALA:

Yes. I know. You already told me. This is not that. 292

NATHAN:

Then what is it?

SARALA:

You know, in Indian history, there was a battle between the Indians and the British in 1857.

NATHAN:

Yes?

SARALA:

The thing is, in school, they used to call it the Sepoy Mutiny or the Indian Mutiny of 1857. But now my students are saying it is the First Indian War of Independence. What is the right name? I am really confused.

NATHAN:

What does the name matter, Sarala? In any case, we did not get independence for nearly a hundred years after that.

SARALA:

But I should not make a mistake about the name, isn’t it, Mrs Nathan? That is why I am searching through these books. But they all say it is the Sepoy Mutiny. I don’t know what to do.

NATHAN:

Why are you wasting so much of your time on this, Sarala? Are you teaching history or English?

SARALA:

My students want to know, Mrs Nathan. The first year BAs. Nowadays they ask me so many questions, my head goes round and round.

NATHAN:

(Exasperated.) It’s because of Raghu! I knew it. This is all Raghu’s work. 293

RAGHU enters, whistling. RAGHU:

Did somebody take my name in vain?

NATHAN:

Raghu, what are you doing? You want another mutiny?

RAGHU:

What? What mutiny?

NATHAN:

Ever since you came, we are having trouble. In three months, in just three months look at what all you have done.

RAGHU:

Can you tell me what you are talking about?

NATHAN:

Yesterday, Dr Dennis’ wife came and cried and cried. It seems you are saying all sorts of things to Dr Dennis.

RAGHU:

I merely told him to cut himself free. It would be best for both of them.

NATHAN:

And then the students. What sort of ideas are you putting in their heads?

RAGHU:

Telling them to think. Telling them to use those heads. Is that wrong?

NATHAN:

Raghu, they have exams in fifteen days’ time. You want them to study for the exams or waste their time in thinking?

RAGHU:

Can’t they do both?

294

NATHAN:

No … Sarala, before I forget…. The office showed me the seating plans for the exams. I have put that second year B.Com. boy in one corner where he can’t cheat. It seems you are invigilating in that room. Please be careful.

SARALA:

Oh, Mrs Nathan. Can’t I be put in another room?

NATHAN:

Sarala, if you can ask somebody to exchange with you, then you do it. I don’t have time to go around asking.

SARALA:

It is just that that, boy is …

RAGHU:

You know him?

NATHAN:

A good-for-nothing fellow. His father is the owner of that big petrol bunk near the railway station. Pots of money.

RAGHU:

Does the boy tease you, Sarala?

SARALA:

Not tease but sometimes …

NATHAN:

What nonsense, Sarala. You imagine too much, reading all that romantic poetry. Forget about that Elizabeth Barrett Browning. If you are strict, the boy won’t dare to wag his tail. Look at the respect he shows me.

295

RAGHU:

If Sarala is worried about managing this boy, why don’t you let her off? I’m sure you can get somebody else.

NATHAN:

This is my business, Raghu. Do not interfere. Please.

RAGHU:

I’m not interfering, merely giving you a piece of advice. As head of the department I think it’s your duty to help a junior colleague. Remember with this rotation system, in less than three years, Sarala will be head. Then what will Your Royal Majesty do?

NATHAN:

Raghu!

SARALA:

I … I have some work. I …

SARALA exits hurriedly. NATHAN:

If you have anything like this to discuss, Raghu, do it at home. Not here, in the staffroom, in front of everybody.

RAGHU:

Do you give me even half a chance to discuss anything with you? All I hear from you is what I hear from my mother.

DR DENNIS enters. RAGHU:

Character assassination. My character assassination. 296

DENNIS:

They all do it, my boy. Every mother’s daughter. By the way, I am due for congratulations.

RAGHU:

You …

DENNIS:

No, she. Left early this morning … Ah! The sweet taste of freedom. How I have missed thee …

NATHAN:

Dr Dennis, are you saying Mary has left you? But yesterday evening, she was in my house … she did not say anything.

DENNIS:

She should have left long ago. Yesterday and yesterday and yesterday crept in that petty pace from day to day and now my tomorrows have …

NATHAN:

Dr Dennis, where has she gone? Tell me. I will go and bring her back.

RAGHU:

Who is interfering now?

NATHAN:

Dr Dennis, please listen to me. Without your wife, you will drink yourself to death. At least she kept some amount of control over you. Let me persuade her to come back. Please.

RAGHU:

Leave him alone. It’s his life.

NATHAN:

Dr Dennis.

297

DENNIS:

I can see what flowers are at my feet at last, and what incense hangs upon the boughs…. Can I help it if Keats couldn’t? What do you say, Rags?

RAGHU:

But now, you should get down to your writing. That’s what you promised you would do.

DENNIS:

Time enough. Time enough. Let me savour this intoxication … present mirth hath pleasant laughter.

NATHAN:

I have her mother’s address. I will send a wire. … In the middle of all my work …

NATHAN exits. DENNIS:

Forget about me, my boy. How goes it with you?

RAGHU:

Not much headway, I’m afraid.

DENNIS:

Have you declared yourself?

RAGHU:

My god, no. I’m scared.

DENNIS:

Ah, then it’s the true thing. If you’re scared.

RAGHU:

I’ve never felt so foolish. So foolish and … and … so excited and … so unworthy.

DENNIS:

I’ve felt unworthy all my life.

298

RAGHU:

But she makes no sign. What does she feel about me? What does she think? I haven’t a clue.

DENNIS:

Give her time, Rags. Give her time.

RAGHU:

I don’t have much time. I leave the day after tomorrow.

DENNIS:

Much can be done in a day, half a day. The eyes need only the space of a moment … When I was courting Mary …

Pause. RAGHU:

I’m sorry. It must hurt to remember.

DENNIS:

Why was that man so bloody right all the time?

RAGHU:

Who?

DENNIS:

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids but the sky changes when they are wives … The sky changes. Oh yes it does …

Pause. DENNIS:

She never understood me. I wanted poetry, she brought me bills. I asked for passion … she wanted children.

RAGHU:

Maybe if you had children … 299

DENNIS:

Children? On my salary? On a college lecturer’s salary?

RAGHU:

How do other people manage?

DENNIS:

They don’t drink …. Or like my wise friend Iyer, they don’t marry.

RAGHU:

Or their wives work too.

DENNIS:

Your wife might. Not the girls of my generation. Mary studied upto Class four and then she was kept at home and trained. To be a thrifty housewife. To be a good mother…. (Pause.) Poor thing! I didn’t give her a chance to be either.

Pause. DENNIS:

Ah well! There’s husbandry in heaven tonight. And I don’t mean it the way Shakespeare intended.

RAGHU:

I know.

DENNIS:

In fact, it will be quite the opposite. No economising at all. In spirits or in spirit! Come along, Rags. Do keep me company.

Pause. RAGHU:

I helped you drive your wife away. I’m not proud of that.

300

DENNIS:

I did it myself, thank you. All by myself. (Pause.) Remember your letter to the university which you sent off with such fanfare. And hope. What happened? Apply, apply, no reply. That’s me. Apply, apply, no reply.

RAGHU:

And now I don’t suppose you will write that book.

DENNIS:

I don’t suppose so.

RAGHU:

For God’s sake, Dr D. aren’t you in the least bit ashamed of yourself? You’ve turned your life into a … a desert.

DENNIS:

It is, as you have so often told me, my life, isn’t it? A poor thing but my own.

RAGHU:

Shakespeare said that in quite another context. I wish you wouldn’t turn everything he wrote into a kind of travesty …

The door opens and DAMINI peeps in. DAMINI:

Excuse me. I was looking for Mr Iyer.

RAGHU:

Oh! Mr Iyer … he … he’s not here. But … you could come in and wait for him here.

DAMINI:

No. It’s alright. I’ll wait outside.

Closes door.

301

DENNIS:

I must be off. I think I have a class … Oh mistress mine, where are you roaming? … Come on in, my dear. Mr Iyer will be here very shortly …

DR DENNIS holds the door open for DAMINI. DENNIS:

Oh run away your true love’s coming, that can sing both high and low.

DENNIS exits. DAMINI enters. Silence. RAGHU:

Did you … did you finish the books I gave you?

DAMINI:

Yes. Yes, I did. I gave them to Mrs Nathan to give to you. Thank you very much. I hope I have not returned them too late?

RAGHU:

Late?

DAMINI:

For packing.

RAGHU:

Packing? Yes. No … no, not really.

Pause. RAGHU:

Are you ready for …

DAMINI:

(At the same time.) Have you started …

RAGHU:

Sorry. Sorry. You were saying … ?

302

DAMINI:

Not anything important. You wanted to know whether I was ready for … ?

RAGHU:

… Your exams. Whether you had studied enough and so on …

DAMINI:

When does one ever say one has studied enough?

RAGHU:

That’s true. Very true.

Pause. DAMINI:

Mr Iyer doesn’t even know I’m in college today. I came to …

RAGHU:

To see me? … No. No. That’s just a … a joke. A stupid joke. But please keep sitting. I’m sure he will be here in a minute.

DAMINI:

Don’t you think I should go and look for him?

RAGHU:

I don’t think so. You shouldn’t do that at all. Dr D would have told him and anyway I wanted to …

RAMANAN enters. RAGHU:

Ramanan! Just the man I wanted. Why don’t you be a good chap and get us some coffee? Two coffees.

DAMINI:

Please. Not for me.

303

RAGHU:

Just a little bit? … Please? Alright, Ramanan. One by two, okay? And see that the glasses are clean.

RAMANAN exits. RAGHU:

This one by two … how clever and Indian it is.

DAMINI:

It’s very convenient for students. When you don’t have much money and want just a bit of coffee and someone else wants just a bit too … But I’ve heard some places don’t allow it anymore.

RAGHU:

Well, I suppose it is uneconomical…. (Pause.) You told me you were studying Keats … part of your third year course.

DAMINI:

Yes. His odes. I’ve got a bit stuck with the ‘Grecian Urn’.

RAGHU:

… Thou still unravished bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian who can’st …

IYER enters abruptly, then. DAMINI:

(Stands up.) Oh Mr Iyer. I … I came to see you. But Mr Krishnan … he … he can quote poetry just like you, sir. From Keats.

Pause. 304

IYER:

What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

RAGHU:

What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

IYER:

Heard melodies are sweet but those unheard Are sweeter;

RAGHU:

Not for Spenser … Tell me, ye merchant’s daughters, did ye see So fair a creature in your town before, So sweet, so lovely, so mild as she, Adorned with virtue’s store,

beauty’s

grace,

and

Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, Her forehead ivory white, Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied, Her lips like cherries charming men to bite … IYER:

But if you saw that which no eyes can see, The inward beauty of her lively sprite,

305

Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight … RAGHU:

Then let Herrick speak for me … A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free, As in the whole world thou can’st find That heart I will give to thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep, While I have eyes to see; And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee.

IYER:

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun The higher he’s a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting.

RAGHU:

But what do I do? I dare not ask a kiss; I dare not beg a smile; Lest having that, or this, I might grow proud the while.

306

No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss the air That lately kissed thee. IYER:

Is it possible That any may find Within one heart so diverse mind To change or turn as weather and wind? Is it possible? … All is possible, Whoso list believe. Trust therefore first and after preve, As men wed ladies by licence and leave, All is possible.

RAGHU:

Which fool wrote that?

IYER:

Thomas Wyatt. Before your time.

RAGHU:

Is that what you think?

Sixteenth

century.

Look as your looking-glass by chance may fall, Divide, and break in many pieces small,

307

And yet shows forth the self-same face in all … So all my thoughts are pieces but of you, Which put together make a glass so true As I therein no other’s face but yours can view. DAMINI:

Oh! Who wrote that?

IYER:

Michael Drayton. 1563–1631.

RAGHU:

There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

IYER:

Thomas Campion. Early seventeenth century. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine;

RAMANAN enters with coffee. Places the glasses on the table and waits. IYER:

Coffee? Again?

DAMINI:

Sir, Mr Krishnan ordered it. For him and me.

RAGHU:

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 308

And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. DAMINI:

I know that poem. It’s Ben Johnson. It’s in the book of poetry you gave me.

RAGHU:

Yes, that’s right.

SARALA enters. SARALA:

Oh, coffee! How nice! Raghu, you ordered it? (Picks up a glass and drinks.)

RAGHU:

… for your sole sake Heaven hath put away the stroke of her doom, So great her portion in that peace you make By merely walking in a room.

RAGHU pauses, looks at IYER, and skips two lines of the poem. RAGHU:

A young man when the old men are done talking Will say to an old man, ‘Tell me of that lady

309

The poet stubborn with his passion sang us When age might well have chilled his blood.’ Pause. IYER:

Vague memories, memories,

nothing

but

But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed. The certainty that I shall see that lady Leaning or standing or walking In the first loveliness of womanhood, And in the fervour of my youthful eyes, Hath set me muttering like a fool. SARALA:

No sir! You can never be … be … that sir.

DAMINI:

Ssh. Ssh ma’am.

RAGHU:

The last stroke of midnight dies. All day in the one chair From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged

IYER:

In rambling talk with an image of air;

310

Vague memories, memories.

nothing

but

SARALA:

Oh! Now I recognise it. ‘Broken Dreams’ by W. B. Yeats. I read it in MA … Raghu, you and sir are exchanging quotations or what? It looks so strange. Like a game.

RAGHU:

It’s as serious as life itself.

IYER:

Ramanan, why are you still here? Is there something you want to tell me?

RAMANAN shows him the slate. IYER:

Yes, I had forgotten. Thank you. But later, please.

RAMANAN exits. SARALA:

It is so funny. I only remember poetry quotations in my language, not in English. So many years I have learnt English literature and now, even though I teach also, I still can’t remember.

Blackout. Spot on WOMAN downstage right. WOMAN: The land of my birth is equatorial, dramatic, dense with colour and sound. The language I first heard was as vivid, with its

311

spice-filled consonants, its images large, overpowering, invading the nooks of my mind. How was I to reconcile this with the language of my education, which seemed to be as ordered as an English garden, as predictable, as rational? How was I to control my heritage with white-gloved hands? In the harsh, clear light of logic, of the rules of law, of morality, I was fenced in, safe with my skills in the English language. But when I wanted to express the wildness of the monsoon, when I needed more urgent endearments, when I looked for words as pulsating as passion itself, I found Macaulay had done me wrong. My English upbringing could not cope with my Indian experience. Images and sounds crowd around me. From the epics, Bhima drawing out Dussasana’s entrails, Draupadi with blood-streaked hair, the smile of the god Krishna, consummate in trickery and deception; from folk ballads, a mother singing of human mortality to her child; from ancient love poetry, the seductive glances from a woman’s eyes like bees flashing among jasmine flowers, her generous hips compared to the sweep of chariots. Do I let go of all this because they do not fit into the English garden? Or is there a space there that is my own? Ratnaakaram tava griham, Jaaya cha Lakshmi,

312

Kim deyam asthi bhavate Purushottamaaya. ‘What do I have to offer you my Lord,’ asks the devotee, ‘What do I have to offer you Whose house is studded with jewels And whose consort is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.’ Spot off. Lights on staffroom. IYER:

Damini, was there anything particular you needed to discuss?

DAMINI:

I thought … if you could explain some bits of the ‘Grecian Urn’, sir. But I could come some other time, if you are busy. I still have a fortnight before the exams.

SARALA:

Don’t waste your prep leave, Damini, doing this and that, alright? Concentrate on your studies. Remember how I advised you last year?

DAMINI:

Yes, ma’am.

SARALA:

I hope you have kept all last year’s notes in a safe place.

DAMINI:

Yes ma’am.

313

IYER:

It would be best if I met you later, Damini.

DAMINI:

Tomorrow, sir?

IYER:

Not tomorrow.

DAMINI:

The day after?

RAGHU:

I won’t be here the day after.

IYER:

Yes. The day after.

DAMINI:

So shall I go, sir?

Pause. IYER:

On second thoughts, Damini, Mr Krishnan could help you with Keats.

DAMINI:

Sir?

IYER:

Mr Krishnan, I hope I do not presume.

RAGHU:

Presume? No! No sir. I am … I am completely delighted.

RAGHU and DAMINI exit. SARALA:

Such a sweet girl. So intelligent also. She is a sure first class, sir.

Silence. SARALA:

How self-confident she has become! You should see how she comes and

314

sits in the staffroom, sir. Even when you are not here. IYER:

Talking to Mr Krishnan?

SARALA:

Oh, you know Raghu, sir. He is always talking. But he is so straightforward. He thinks everything that is white is milk.

IYER:

I see.

SARALA:

I feel very bad that Mrs Nathan has such a bad opinion of him. That too her own sister’s son.

IYER:

Maybe she has reason to be distrustful of him.

SARALA:

No sir. People misunderstand him, that’s what. Take, for example, Damini. He thinks of her as his young sister.

IYER:

Has he told you that?

SARALA:

No sir. But you can make out … He talks to me in a very different way, you know, sir. With me, he …

IYER:

There is something I have to discuss with you now that we are alone.

SARALA:

Sir? Yes … yes sir.

IYER:

It is about the farewell function for Mr Krishnan.

SARALA:

The …? Oh yes sir. Yes. Ramanan was asking me also. 315

IYER:

I thought we could hold it here in our staffroom instead of using a classroom. It would be more …

SARALA:

Intimate, sir?

IYER:

It would be more informal. I shall ask Ramanan to arrange the furniture suitably. Could I ask you to buy a garland?

SARALA:

What kind, sir? Roses?

IYER:

I do not think this is the season for roses.

SARALA:

Jasmine?

IYER:

I leave it to you. Something pleasing but not too expensive.

SARALA:

Yes sir. And what time are we holding it?

IYER:

Oh yes. Since we do not have classes tomorrow, I felt, and Mrs Nathan agreed, that we could hold the function before the staff meeting. That would give Mr Krishnan enough time to complete all the other formalities.

Pause. SARALA:

How much you think of other people, sir.

316

IYER:

I beg your pardon?

SARALA:

I used to be so frightened of you sir, earlier. I thought you were so strict. And you were also not married so …

IYER:

Yes?

SARALA:

So I thought you … But then you take Dr Dennis’ case sir. His wife has left him. After twenty-six years of marriage. Twenty-six.

IYER:

Who told you about that?

SARALA:

The whole college is talking about it, sir. It seems she took away everything. And she broke all his liquor bottles and she …

IYER:

Sarala. Dr Dennis and Mrs Dennis parted as graciously as they could, under the circumstances.

SARALA:

You were there, sir?

IYER:

Mrs Dennis is an extremely dignified lady. Today she was also a very sad woman.

SARALA:

Some people beautiful.

IYER:

(Aloof once more.) I do not see the connection.

317

think

she

is

very

SARALA:

When a lady is beautiful, then all the men are on her side.

Silence. SARALA:

You, Raghu. Even Ramanan looks at her as if … as if she is a goddess or something.

IYER:

Her life has been a trying one. I hope she salvages some part of it now.

SARALA:

She will hook some other man. There are so many waiting.

IYER:

Sarala, what is it that has happened to you? Why do you talk this way of a woman already suffering?

SARALA:

Is she the only one who suffers?

IYER:

No. We all do … We suffer when we take a decision, we suffer when we don’t …

SARALA:

What is making you suffer, sir?

IYER:

Sarala, has Mr Krishnan been talking to you?

SARALA:

Yes. Quite a lot.

IYER:

I see. And this has been about … about personal matters?

SARALA:

Yes.

318

IYER:

Of private matters?

SARALA:

Yes. Yes. I have …

IYER:

You have … what?

SARALA:

I have … I have opened my heart out to him. I have told him everything.

IYER:

Everything?

SARALA:

About the pain. Waiting. Everything.

Silence. IYER:

Sarala, I have known you for a long time.

SARALA:

Since I was your student, sir.

IYER:

That’s right. Since you were my student. So you will not take it amiss if I speak to you as a …

SARALA:

As a what, sir? As what?

IYER:

As a well-wisher.

SARALA:

A well-wisher?

IYER:

Do not give of yourself so easily.

SARALA:

Sir?

IYER:

There are many kinds of men. Some you can trust, but there are others who can cheat and rob you.

SARALA:

What are you saying, sir? 319

IYER:

Remember your Shakespeare … There’s no art To find the mind’s construction in the face: Macbeth Act One … Scene …

SARALA:

Shakespeare! Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley! Is that all you can think about? Sir? Can’t you for one minute think about us? About us?

Rushes out wildly. Blackout. Scene 2. Next day. Lights on staffroom. MR IYER and MRS NATHAN are standing downstage. NATHAN:

There was no need for you to speak to my nephew that way.

IYER:

I am sorry. I had taken a strange step earlier in the day and I needed to be reassured.

NATHAN:

You were talking to him as if he was a loafer from the streets. Who do you think he is?

IYER:

Mrs Nathan. You have often spoken of your nephew in disparaging terms. In the last three months that he has been 320

here, you have been suspicious of his motives. You have watched him and I am certain you have given him warning. NATHAN:

I have every right. I am his aunt.

IYER:

And I am a senior lecturer in this institution. I have my responsibilities too.

Enter RAMANAN. He has changed out of his usual uniform and worn a white khadi kurta pyjama. He looks pleased with the effect. IYER:

(Moving away from MRS NATHAN.) Ramanan. You look very elegant today.

RAMANAN holds up his slate. IYER:

Yes, what is it? Oh, I see. Be Indian. Wear Indian. That’s very good. But wait. There is a small spelling mistake. It’s not w.h.e.r.e. but w.e.a.r.

RAMANAN corrects it and looks proudly at his work. NATHAN:

Ramanan, if you want to get this place ready, you should start. When are you going to do it? After everything is over?

321

RAMANAN puts the slate back on the shelf and begins to turn the chairs around so as to create the impression of a lecture hall. IYER:

Bring that chair here, Ramanan. Mr Krishnan can then sit at the table facing us. Have you got a clean tablecloth? Why don’t you ask the office for one? Tell them that I have sent you.

RAMANAN exits. NATHAN:

I do not understand you, Mr Iyer, even after all these years. You have made it clear that you do not like Raghu. Yesterday, in front of me, you told him that he was a bad influence in the college. And now you are taking such personal interest in this farewell function — a clean tablecloth, snacks, coffee. You have ordered everything.

IYER:

My personal feelings are of little importance, Mrs Nathan. Mr Krishnan has been our colleague, he has worked with us. It is only befitting that we send him forth with our good wishes. It is a convention that I wish to maintain.

Pause.

322

NATHAN:

Mr Iyer. May I ask you for some advice?

IYER:

If I can be of help, certainly Mrs Nathan.

NATHAN:

What sort of a family background does Damini have?

IYER:

I beg your pardon? Damini?

NATHAN:

Your Elective student Damini. Is she from a good family?

IYER:

Why do you wish to know, Mrs Nathan? Has there been a …

NATHAN:

Somebody has come with a proposal. A marriage alliance.

IYER:

Already? But she is …

NATHAN:

So young. That is what I told him. She is still very young. Wait for another five or six years. Let her do her MA also, let her work for two years, you return from Canada, and then we will see but no, he won’t listen, he is adamant.

IYER:

Are you talking of Mr Krishnan?

NATHAN:

As soon as you left yesterday, what does he do? He spends money making a trunk call to my sister and tells her he wants to marry this girl right away. My poor sister! What could she do? How long can you argue on a trunk call? So 323

she asked me to approach the girl’s family. RAMANAN enters carrying a billowing tablecloth and begins to drape it clumsily on the table. NATHAN:

Oh Ramanan. Not like that. Here give it to me. Pull more that side. Not so much. Alright, leave it now.

RAMANAN gesticulates. NATHAN:

What? When to bring the coffee? Ask Mr Iyer.

MR IYER does not respond. NATHAN:

Alright. You bring it after the speeches are over. What? The garland? I don’t know about that.

IYER:

I asked Sarala to arrange for it.

NATHAN:

That is the other thing. Where is that girl? She is always late. I expected her to come a little early today at least and help us. Instead of which…. What is it, Ramanan? Yes. The chairs look alright…. Mr Iyer?

IYER:

Yes.

NATHAN:

Where should we put the snacks and all that, Mr Iyer?

324

IYER:

Anywhere convenient.

NATHAN:

We can put it on the table in that corner. Will that be alright? … Yes Ramanan, I think it will be alright …. What? You want to be here also? … I suppose … if Mr Iyer has agreed … But there is still a lot of time … yes. You wait outside.

RAMANAN exits. NATHAN:

Why does he want to be here?

IYER:

Ramanan has reason to be grateful to Mr Krishnan. Your nephew has helped him communicate with the rest of the world.

NATHAN:

That way he is a good boy. A very good boy. He is always ready to help people. But now what do I do, Mr Iyer? How do I approach the family?

IYER:

Has … has Damini … has the girl agreed?

NATHAN:

That is what made me so angry. The girl has said yes, it seems. Even before consulting her parents.

Pause. IYER:

Why do you blame her? … Your nephew can be extremely persuasive. 325

NATHAN:

But to get married? Can a young girl agree to do it just like that? In one hour’s time? What does she know about him?

IYER:

What does she need to know?

NATHAN:

His background? His family? … And I may be old-fashioned, but what is her caste? I don’t even know that.

IYER:

He has spoken. She has assented.

NATHAN:

Mr Iyer, I am sorry to say this, but now I understand why you are not married.

IYER:

Because I did not speak, is that it?

NATHAN:

Because you do not like responsibility. You want to be like a sthithapragnya.

IYER:

A sthithapragnya overcomes responsibilities. He does not turn away from them.

NATHAN:

And you run away. All your life, you have done nothing but run away. How long will you escape, tell me. For how long?

Enter DR DENNIS, whistling. DENNIS:

Ah! The table is spread. The banquet is laid. But where is our honoured guest?

326

NATHAN:

More important, where is Sarala with her garland?

DENNIS:

True, where is the blushful maid? I thought she would be here getting things in order.

NATHAN:

I will go and look in the library. She must be looking for quotations for her speech … Dr Dennis, please stay put here. I can’t go looking for you also.

NATHAN exits. DENNIS:

Iyer, I am sorry.

IYER:

Pardon?

DENNIS:

But it would never have done. She was too young.

Pause. IYER:

Young and so untender?

DENNIS:

So young, my lord, and bewitched.

Pause. IYER:

I am a fool, an old damn fool.

DENNIS:

Yes, of course you are. I’m a fool too. Don’t fret, Iyer. We are all, all of us, fools.

Enter RAGHU with DAMINI. 327

RAGHU:

Who’s talking about fools? I am the king, the emperor of fools, aren’t I, Damini? … Mr Iyer, I hope you don’t mind, I had to bring her. In case I think it was all a dream. Dr D. I did it. I did it. I did it.

DENNIS:

Sit down, my dear. And get back your breath.

DAMINI:

Thank you. I’m still … a bit dazed.

RAGHU:

Dazed! Amazed! Stargazed! Where am I to sit?

DENNIS:

Anywhere but on the coffee.

RAGHU:

Coffee. I will never forget the coffee here. Remember Mini, the coffee … My God! Was it just yesterday?

DAMINI:

Sir. Won’t you … won’t you sit too?

Enter MRS NATHAN. NATHAN:

I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in the library, not in the … Damini!

RAGHU:

She’s come with me … Anyway, whom were you looking for?

IYER:

You may not have realised it but one of your colleagues is not here.

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RAGHU:

Of course! Sarala! Where is the poor girl? Don’t tell me she has forgotten this is officially my last day here!

NATHAN:

And she was supposed to bring the garland also.

RAGHU:

A garland!

DENNIS:

A flowery noose.

RAGHU:

For me? Oh, this is rich.

IYER:

It is a tradition here. Our commerce may be in a foreign language but we are essentially natives of this country.

RAGHU:

I agree. I agree completely. Why do you think I’m taking a bride from here? A native bride?

NATHAN:

I don’t know what to do. Do we wait for Sarala or just start? We have a staff meeting after this.

RAGHU:

Why don’t we forget all this formal business and sit and chat?

IYER:

I think we should begin. Sarala can join us later. Mr Krishnan, if you don’t mind. Will you take this chair? Thank you.

The others arrange themselves. RAMANAN enters carrying a parcel.

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IYER:

Ramanan would like to start the proceedings by offering you a small gift.

RAGHU:

A gift?

RAMANAN presents the parcel. RAGHU:

May I open it, please? Oh Mini, look! It’s a slate.

DENNIS:

You can show it off to your Canadian friends as a relic from India.

RAGHU:

As a low cost educational aid! Thank you, Ramanan. I shall treasure it. Truly.

RAMANAN gesticulates. IYER:

He hopes your … your child will use it.

RAGHU:

Did you hear that, Mini? My child! Not children, Ramanan?

DENNIS:

Our low cost educational aids do not generally last beyond one child. … Now if you don’t mind Iyer, Ramanan … I would like to make my presentation. May I?

RAGHU:

Excuse me Dr D. I have to thank Ramanan first. Formally. Before he runs off…. Dear Ramanan, thank you. You are a very brave man who lives a life of extreme dignity. You may have lost your voice box to cancer but believe me, you

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have shown me how much silence can speak. Applause. RAGHU:

Of course, I don’t understand why you have this fascination for learning the English language but all of us have our eccentricities and this is yours…. I will explain the word later Ramanan…. Thank you again. And yes. I will send you more books.

Applause. RAMANAN shakes hands solemnly, moves aside and exits as DR DENNIS begins to speak. NATHAN:

I don’t understand why this girl still has not come.

DENNIS:

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my doubtful privilege to say good things about this man who seems to be more favoured by fortune than is really fair. Nevertheless, we have to observe the conventions that we have observed since the Raj and which we shall continue observing till the sun sets on the world. So, let me say that the last three months have been tumultuous and earthshaking in more ways than one. I have gained much from knowing

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this young man. I wish him every strength and every joy. Applause. DENNIS:

Just remember though, Rags, that one of the last Englishmen in the world lives here in this college. And this is a small gift from me … (Hands RAGHU an old leather-covered book, unwrapped.)

RAGHU:

Dr D. Your Bible!

DENNIS:

My first Bible. I used it as a child. I hope it will be a sweet remembrancer …

RAGHU:

I don’t know what to say, Dr Dennis.

DENNIS:

Then you have said enough … Now, are you going to say the same things as I have Iyer, or may we adjourn for some coffee? My throat is parched as usual.

NATHAN:

I am feeling very worried about Sarala. She has never been this late.

DENNIS:

Don’t worry. She’s probably still wondering which garland she should get for our hero.

RAMANAN rushes in and gesticulates.

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NATHAN:

The Principal is calling me? Now? Alright, I am coming …. Please carry on, Mr Iyer. I’ll be back in a minute ….

NATHAN and RAMANAN exit. Silence. DENNIS:

So Rags! When do you expect to know anything definite from the land of the fig leaf?

DAMINI:

You mean the maple leaf?

DENNIS:

This time of year thou mays’t in me behold When fig leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs that shake against the cold …

RAGHU:

In a couple of weeks I should think.

DENNIS:

And then you cross the black waters.

RAGHU:

Not before I am wed.

DENNIS:

You seem confident of getting the official sanction.

RAGHU:

That shouldn’t be a problem. One look at Damini and my mother will …

MRS NATHAN rushes in. NATHAN:

Mr Iyer! Sarala has … she has …

RAGHU:

Sarala?

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NATHAN:

She …

IYER:

No!

NATHAN:

There was a phone call to the Principal from her landlord. She did not come out of her room so they …. There was no response.

DENNIS:

And?

NATHAN:

They broke open the door…. It was all over.

RAGHU:

What do you mean, it’s all over? Did they call a doctor?

NATHAN:

Yes.

RAGHU:

No. I don’t believe it. She would not have done that. I’m going to see her.

IYER:

Going to see what, Mr Krishnan? The result of your handiwork?

RAGHU:

What? What did you say?

IYER:

How do you do it? What special tricks do you have? Sarala. Damini. The girl you ran away from. How many more of them do you want?

DENNIS:

Iyer. Please.

IYER:

She told me. Sarala told me. You cast a spell on her, you son of a …

RAGHU:

Mr Iyer. It wasn’t because of me … I …

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IYER:

Don’t you dare slide out of it, you rotten cur. I have watched you doing your dirty work, in the staffroom, in the canteen, mesmerising her, seducing her with your fancy talk. She changed after you arrived here with your bag of dirty tricks. And you say it wasn’t you?

DENNIS:

Iyer. Please sit down. You are not yourself.

IYER:

Let go of me. I am myself. Finally…. You told me, Mr Krishnan, that first disastrous day when you arrived that I treated you with disdain. As if I had known you for a long time. Do you remember?

RAGHU:

Yes.

IYER:

You were right. I had known you for a long time. I had known you since I was born … you black devil … you …

DENNIS:

Iyer, control yourself.

IYER:

You were everything I wanted to be. You had everything I wanted. And then you come and take away …

RAMANAN comes in with a book. NATHAN:

This is Sarala’s book. The book that you gave her, Mr Iyer.

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RAGHU:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

NATHAN:

There is a letter in it.

DENNIS:

For whom?

NATHAN:

It doesn’t say. It is not even a letter. It is a poem.

RAGHU takes the sheet of paper and reads from it. RAGHU:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach … I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

SARALA’S VOICE-OVER:

… I love thee with the breath, Smiles and tears, of all my life! — and if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Spot on IYER. Blackout.

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Spot on WOMAN downstage right. WOMAN: I came out of my country twelve years ago. When I think of myself then, as a student of English literature, I am filled with amazement at how much insight I was given into a foreign culture by women and men who had never seen England, who had never known a snowbound winter and who could never have understood the triumphant joy of English springtime. Why did I forsake them? Why did I think that the truth was here among a people who seek the sun but do not know its power? I was bewitched, beguiled by appearance and sophistication, too easily, too willingly won. The history of my land, of all lands that have been colonised, is uncannily like the progress of a sexual conquest. Desire. Advance. Invasion. Possession. Desire a madness, an intoxication, that does not allow for negotiation or debate. It wants and it wants immediately. Possession is deliberate, rational; it takes its time, it laughs. The act of possession is an imperial talent, the mark of the conqueror, Tenzing’s foot on the highest summit, the English alphabet in Indian schoolrooms. But the act of possession is also consolidation, the domesticity of sexual thrall, the evening of the morning after, the lighting of the hearth, the sharing of a meal by the victor and the vanquished. Is it in those dark, quiet hours that the positions change? Is it then that those proud definitions blur and tremble?

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Already the definitions have begun to tremble. I have found my old cooking pot by the side of the Ganga and the first blue-black rain clouds are gathering in the south-west sky. The stranger hears the insistent call of the koel: Where, where, where are you? He tries to answer but he uses the wrong words, he always uses the wrong words. I laugh. I know what he doesn’t. I have taken from the Englishman what was his. I have smoothed it and dented it, given it shape, polished it, fashioned it the way I want. And I know I possess it now. When the monsoon breaks, when bodies embrace, when the child is born, dark brown and glistening, who can hear the words for the thunder? Where is the roof, the fence, where is the delicate garden? My life trembles with meaning and yet whatever I say, the words I use, are inadequate, an approximation. But that I realise the inadequacy is my victory too, the wealth that sustains me. Do you hear me, Macaulay, I have my revenge after all. Across land and water, over hills and desert, language is a travelling. It can never arrive. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for listening. Blackout.

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Alipha 2001 Alipha — the title was inspired by ‘aliph’, the first letter of the Urdu alphabet and reminiscent of the word ‘alphabet’ itself — tells the parallel stories of a social activist and a politician in small town India. The two narratives are like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle that are put together by the audience as the play progresses. The girl and the man — they remain nameless — do not ever meet on stage; their acting areas, and their worlds, remain explicitly demarcated and exclusively their own. In the writing of this play, there was a need for careful construction, so that the two narratives dovetailed and yet each storyline was independently carried forward. While the woman’s story travels across two decades, the man’s is told in real time, in the space of a single evening. His tale is in recollection, and the dramatic moment occurs when the two time horizons merge. The play touches on small town politics, on the efforts of activists in the development process, on social and economic inequality. But these issues are really the backdrop to human emotions — love, lust, greed, anger, hate and revenge. In Alipha, ultimately, it is the personal tragedy of the characters, the waste of human endeavour, which is paramount.

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Alipha carries echoes of the other one-hour play, Thus Spake Shoorpanakha, So Said Shakuni. They were written as companion pieces, but are not related except by the deliberate repetition of a few lines and by the leitmotif of revenge. The difference between the two lies in that, while revenge is explicitly the theme of Thus Spake Shoorpanakha, So Said Shakuni, it is depicted, in Alipha, as the promise of justice. First performed 12 September 2001 Cast Woman

Anasuya Sengupta

Man

Rakesh Batra

Crew Production

Poile Sengupta

Stage Management Lata Ramaswamy, Gagandeep Chhabra Sets

Abhijit Sengupta, Salar

Lights

K. M. Chaitanya

Sound

Deepak J. L.

Costumes

Sanheetha Ved

Props

Meghana Dhawan

Direction

Abhijit Sengupta

Co-direction

Poile Sengupta

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The stage is divided into two acting areas. The WOMAN has a chair, and a desk that holds a few books and some writing material; there is a rough bedstead upstage. The MAN has an old-fashioned but expensive armchair, a table to match and a sideboard. There must be a contrast made between the two areas to indicate that the MAN comes from a wealthy background and the WOMAN is of humbler circumstances. As the play begins, the WOMAN is a young girl (she depicts this through her gait and actions); she grows into adulthood as the play progresses. The MAN remains the same age since much of his narrative is in the past tense. The narrative covers about twenty years. The WOMAN talks or writes to a friend who never appears on stage. The MAN addresses the audience throughout. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

(Calling out to an invisible friend.) Asma! Where you are Asma? I am not talking to you alright? I am hating you. … What? You hate me also. So? I am not afraid. What for me. I am having so many friends …. Better friends than you … you proudy girl …. What? What you said? I am cheating? I ?… You are a liar … a big big liar … liar lipstick… (Chanting.) liar liar lipstick … sitting on a broomstick … broomstick broke … liar got a poke … liar liar … What?

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What you said Asma? Poke? I am not knowing the meaning. (Pause.) … What? That is the meaning of poke? Chheee! (Covers her face for a moment.) Really that is the meaning? Who told? Your cousin? Chheee. (Giggles.) Your cousin is knowing so much no? What else he is knowing? (Pause.) But Asma I am talking now no?… No. I am not fighting. What? I am not hating you … never … never. You are my bestest friend Asma … Bester than everyone. Promise. Light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

You see me sitting here in this old armchair … sitting back … smoking … apparently at peace. How would you describe me, huh? Middle-aged? Greying? Distinguished …? Certainly distinguished. (Laughs.) I get that from my father … the being distinguished. From my fucking father. (Pause.) Damn him … Yeah. You’re right. I am not at peace. I may appear to be …. But I’m not. I only have to trick myself into thinking that everything’s fine …. But that’s not true. (Pause.) Things have not been fine since I was twenty. Twenty and rusticated. Expelled from college.

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Light fades. Light on the WOMAN sitting on the ground with her legs spread out. WOMAN:

(Sobbing.) Aa … aaa … ee … eee … oo … oooo … aa … aaa … ee … eee … oo … oooo … aa … aaa. (Listens.) Asma? You are there Asma? (Pause.) I am crying because again my aunty … she is beating me … beating me so hard my sitting part is paining … (Pause.) Because I am not doing my study … I am only playing … playing with you … she is saying … she is saying your friend is having father and mother and money but you are having nothing … nothing … no father … no mother … nothing … so why you are playing like a fool? Go … study … learn aa … aaa … ee … eee … read books and get job … get money … don’t play with … with rich girls … What Asma? What …? Shoo. Shoo. She is coming, my aunty. (Loudly.) Aa … aaa … ee … eee … oo … oooo … ay … aay … aa … aaa … ee … eee … oo … ooooo …

Light fades. Light on the MAN.

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MAN:

Expelled. Rusticated. Thrown out …. (Pause.) To be fair … what else could the poor bastards do? Yes … alright … I was the son of an important man … a political personage as they say … my father had all the money and all the … (Pause.) pull (Laughs.) But not this time … man … not this time … The lady was shrewd … she went straight to his political foes … God! What a bloody hooha there was. My father …. (Pause.) … Well … he thought he would have to quit. And of course that he wouldn’t do …. My dear father. Quit. Oh no. His post was more bloody important than his own son. Ha! How that woman outsmarted him. (Calls out.) Ay. You, what’s your name … where are my bloody cigarettes? (Pause.) Ay! (Pause.) There’s no one there. Bloody rascals! (Pause.) So there my father was … saddled with a rusticated son … a … personal bloody political embarrassment …. So what did he do? Rusticated me again. Sent me to the stinking family house in his constituency and stopped me from showing as much as my nose in the city. Expelled …. Exiled …. All in the same breath …

Light fades. Light on the WOMAN.

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WOMAN:

But Asma … Rama was not a bad man … he was god … he was killing Ravana because Ravana was a bad man with ten heads and red eyes … What? (Pause.) I am not knowing why he had red eyes. I think soap must have went into his eyes.

The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

You know what that Chinese somebody or the other said … if rape is inevitable lie back and … enjoy it …. So that’s what I did … I decided I would enjoy myself in exile …. After all I had this huge mansion and a bloody retinue of servants … madly faithful … coddling me as if I was a bloody infant … mewling and puking …. (Laughs.) Puking I jolly well was those first fucking days … Drank myself blind … Aaah! (Pause.) And then one evening … my old friend the postman came and asked me very politely whether I needed … a woman … (Laughs.) A very understanding fellow my friend was … those days … The first thing he assured me was that the woman he had in mind was clean … exclusive … and most important … would not get me into any kind of trouble …. (Pause.) So that night I was taken through winding lanes to a small cottage … to the back door 345

actually, and was made to wait in pitch darkness till a woman came in with a shaded hurricane lantern …. (Pause.) You know to this day I don’t know why I waited there in that cloistered darkness like a bloody thief … at one point I wanted to shout the choicest abuses and get the hell out of there …. But (Pause.) I waited. The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

Asma. When we are big we will stay in the same house no? … I will comb your hair and I will make you sleep on my lap … I will tell you stories … King queen stories … (Pause.) Asma … listen I will tell you something funny … so funny … in the night yesterday I wanted to drink water … so I got up but my aunty was not sleeping near me … I could not open the door also … it was locked … so I called and called my aunty … but she did not hear … and then so funny … there was a man’s voice and he was saying aa … aaa … ee … eeee … yes really … so loudly he was saying … aa … aaa … ee … eeee … so funny, no? He was saying the alipha words in the night.

The light fades.

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Light on the MAN. MAN:

I waited …. She came into the room with a shaded lamp …. So quietly that I did not even know she had come …. She took me by the hand without a word … and … she lay me down and … she was naked … soft … fragrant with a thousand jasmines. And then she … I don’t know where she learnt her skills … in a moment her mouth was on mine … her tongue in me … and then the tongue was elsewhere … everywhere … darting … licking … tasting … aaah! Aaaah! I was wet with her tongue … wet and hot … and raging … wild to get into her … to …. (Pause.) At some point I thought I heard a child cry but she was doing something to me then … that was so … oh!… Oh so … so delicious … that I don’t even know whether I had imagined it. (Pause.) What a fool I was … a bloody fool.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

Asma! Asma! See my new dress. You like it? My aunty got it. She also got me new shoe and white sock. Like yours. I am so happy. Now I want to learn English like you. I don’t want this aa aaa ee eee thing anymore. I am wanting to learn A for apples … B for … 347

balls … What? B for? … Ball? … Oh not balls … alright … B for ball … C for cats … The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I couldn’t stay away from her … she was the next cigarette … the next drink … the drugged forgetting … hard unending pleasure. … The entire day was a waiting for the night … the darkness … the backdoor … her smell … her hair along my thighs … her hands exploring … It was only her … always her … her spheres and hollows … her whispers …. (Pause.) And she knew it … oh yes she did. She took money from me on every pretext … she made me honour her debts … buy her household necessities … the works. And then, that postman, he made me give him money every month to educate one of his brats. And not in any school, man … not in your five rupee corporation school down the lane. No, Mr Postman wanted only the best … the only English medium school in the fucking district. (Pause.) What do you think? I did it … yes … I did … (Laughs.) I actually became a benefactor … a blackmailed philanthropist …

The light fades.

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Lights on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

(Very excited.) Asma! Asma! Big big news. Very big news. I am going to your school … to your school Asma …. My aunty has given fees and everything …. Yes. Promise. I am going to class one … not your class. But that is alright … it is the same school no? And we will play so much … I will also learn English like you … Asma … you will help me no? … I am so happy (Dances.) I am going to English school English school English school … Asma school Asma school Asma school.

The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I was smitten. What else can I say? I was twenty and completely smitten. Obsessed. (Pause.) I was in the coils of a woman about whom I knew nothing … not even her name. I would not even have found her house by daylight. It was still the postman who took me there every night … in darkness so deep that it was as if I had been blindfolded … blinded. (Laughs.) You find that strange, do you? But tell me … what use had I for her name … her house number …. How did all that matter to me? (Pause.) I wasn’t really interested in 349

her, you know … beyond the activities of the night …. She was the body of a woman who knew its job. And knew it bloody well. Even now when I think of those nights … I get … I get … well … aroused … to put it bloody mildly. (Pause, then calls out.) Ay you! I want another bottle, damn you. Yes … now. (Pause). That was all it was … an obsession … a straightforward sexual obsession. (Pause.) How did it happen? I was young … untried … innocent too in a way … innocent (Laughs.) Yes alright … there were those episodes in college … But it was all done with consent. I was just bloody unlucky with that lecturer woman. She wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. My father would have paid her off, you know. And anyway, what the hell … I merely put my hand down the front of her blouse … it was a bet … that’s all. And I paid for it … I’ve paid for it in every way … The light fades. Light on the WOMAN who is now dressed in a long skirt/salwar kameez and is about thirteen years old. WOMAN:

Asma, I can’t believe it. I just can’t. I’ve got a double promotion. A double promotion. And I am now in your class … with you. Oh Asma, I am so lucky … so very lucky … (Pause.) Who? Aunty? I don’t know. She has changed so 350

much. She looks so tired … But today again she says she has some correction work to finish and she will be in the next room. You know Asma, I still don’t understand why she locks my door every night. She has done it all these years. She keeps a jug of water on the table for me and then she locks the door. Why? The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

(Shouting.) Where in bloody hell is my drink? Are all you bastards dead? (Pause.) What? Second October? Couldn’t you have thought of it before? Get me something, you idiot. Any poison. (Pause.) After I am dead I hope they celebrate my birthday with bloody orgies. (Pause.) Nine years it went on. Nine bloody years. Every night. Except for those three days of the month. Of course I looked around for others. Tried some. But it wasn’t the same. I tell you … the woman had me hooked. I couldn’t stay away from her. I kept all the conditions that the postman and she imposed on me. I asked no questions … I did no probing … Once when I asked her her name … she said … call me whatever you want … it’s all the same. (Laughs.) So I did just that. I called her a different name each night … 351

the names of my girlfriends … of the women I had lusted after … the ones I had fantasised about … And she responded … as if … as if she didn’t really care. It was eerie in a way but frankly … it also gave me a great kick … I felt I owned an entire harem. (Pause.) The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

Oh Asma, I know how to take care of myself. My aunty does not need to lock the door. (Laughs.) I am so safe here. I am everybody’s baby. They all know about how my aunty brought me here after my mother died and they all say … you were such a tiny baby … as small as a sparrow … we thought you would die … but look at you now … so pretty … so grown up … have you begun menstruating? (Pause.) Who? Who thought I was pretty? That man who came to school today? The son of the chief guest? Cheee! He looks as if he drinks liquor instead of water. Did you see his eyes? Like red gooseberries. Like Ravana’s eyes. (Pause.) Oh come on Asma, don’t tease me about that fellow. He was looking at all the girls. Not just me.

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The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

You know something? Apart from the sensations of the night I didn’t have much of a life those days. I slept through the mornings and afternoons and surfaced only in the evening … (Laughs.) Like a resident of a red light area. But my father … my stinking father became almost proud of me …. When he came on one of his political visits to charm and confound the masses … he couldn’t believe that I stayed home all day … that I was drinking less … that I was not petticoat chasing. (Laugh.) Little did he know. (Pause.) Can you believe this … he even took me to his official functions — to blood donation camps, the inauguration of water supply schemes, even to the bloody sports day at the English medium school. What did he think? That he was grooming me as his political successor? The hypocritical bastard! (Pause.) Everything in his life was either politically useful or not useful … including paternal love. Love for his only son … his only child, dammit. No wonder my mother died when I was twelve.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN who is now dressed in a white sari, which is what she wears through the rest of the play, the smaller time shifts being indicated 353

by a change in hairstyle or the wearing of bangles or by using a light shawl. Now, she is at the desk writing a letter. WOMAN:

Dearest Asma … Why do terrible things happen all at the same time? My aunty dead and you gone. Why did your father have to get transferred so far away? I still can’t believe that I can’t talk to you through the window … that I can’t see you or hear you … that you are only in my mind now. But always in my mind. (Pause.) About aunty … what do I say? (Gets up and talks as if to Asma.) She got that cough again … you remember she used to keep getting it off and on the last couple of years? But this time it was really bad. And Asma, I didn’t notice …. You had just left and the rest of the world had disappeared … I didn’t know what was happening around me. But two days ago … she came to my room gasping for breath and collapsed on the floor. I called the doctor … all the neighbours came but … nobody could help. She had gone. Suddenly there were priests and rituals and a crowd of people and then she was taken away. Now I am alone.

The light fades.

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Light on the MAN. MAN:

How could it happen so suddenly? I mean dammit … a woman can’t die just like that. Yes alright … she had a kind of wheezy cough now and then … but she always said it was because of a change in the weather …. In fact I had myself not gone to her for about a week or so … I had a bit of fever and stuff … so that evening I was all shaky with wanting her, you know.… And then that idiot postman comes to tell me that she is dead. Just like that. Dead.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. She is back at the desk writing. WOMAN:

No. I shouldn’t make you worried. I am not really all alone. Everyone has been so kind … they have been in and out of the house … getting me food … staying by me … making me eat …. But what is really strange is that the postman … do you remember him? The old, kind man? He is apparently a distant relative … in fact he did the funeral rites. I can’t understand why I wasn’t told earlier. Why is there all this mystery?

The light fades.

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Light on the MAN. MAN:

I went mad. I couldn’t bear it. I wouldn’t bear it. How could she leave me and go off altogether? How dare she die? (Pause … then softly.) I wanted to hit out at her … hurt her … make her cry in pain. I wanted revenge. Revenge. So I … (Pause.) I decided to stop paying the school fees.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing at her desk. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … I got another shock when I went to school this morning. I was told that the scholarship has been stopped and so I would have to pay the fees myself for this last year at school. Luckily it’s only a few months more. But what do I do? There is only a little money in my aunty’s bank account and she has some savings in a fixed deposit. But I don’t want to use that. I don’t need clothes because I have my aunty’s saris but I do need to eat. Again, luckily … and this is really lucky … this house apparently belongs to our mysterious postman … so I don’t have to look for another place to stay. Where would I have gone anyway?

The light fades.

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Light on the MAN. MAN:

Yes. I stopped paying the school fees. Why not? Why the hell did I need to educate the postman’s damn brat anymore? She could go to the devil now for all that I cared.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

Dearest Asma … Don’t worry. I’ve got a job. You remember the garment factory that the father of red gooseberry eyes had started just outside the town? Well some voluntary organisation from the city is supporting an anganwadi centre for the children of the factory workers, and they want me to work there. It suits me very well. I have also decided to be an external student because I don’t have to pay so much fees. (Pause.) I miss school very much but what does one do? (Rises and talks as if to Asma.) I miss you, Asma. I miss you so terribly. (Breaks down and sobs.)

The light fades. Light on the MAN.

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MAN:

That bloody postman came to see me after ten days. Apparently his sister in law’s sister had died. Talk of close family connections. I didn’t even know the bastard had a stinking relative like that … must have been one of those ancient toothless hags you see around the place. Anyway, I asked the fellow to get me another woman. As close to the other one as possible … maybe her sister or something. And the fellow had the utter audacity to refuse. And then the bastard asked me why I had stopped the school fees. Can you believe that? The fucking bastard. I told him I would hound him out of town … set the police on him. But he spat on the ground and walked out of the door. The stinking bastard actually turned his back to me and bloody walked out!

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN. WOMAN:

My dearest Asma … I have some strange news for you. The old postman is my uncle! My dead father’s older brother ! My own uncle! Can you believe that? You must be so surprised. Wait! Let me explain. (Rises and talks as if to Asma.) Apparently my father was a genius in studies but he was also a wild sort of person, always fighting for 358

people’s rights and so on. And what must he do but marry a poor widow. My mother. (Pause.) The family promptly disowned him. So he went to another town looking for a job. He was a first class first in the university but he ended up as a cook … can you imagine that? He couldn’t get any other job. (Pause.) He must have been heartbroken. He died a few weeks before I was born and my mother … (Pause.) she died giving me birth. My aunty was with her then and she brought me here. To my father’s home town. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I was so angry I could have gone after him and throttled him. I almost did. But then I thought better of it. It would be a greater pleasure to have the police harass him. So I called the DSP and over a drink I explained that the fellow had cheated me and not given me the goods I had paid for. But the bloody DSP wanted to know what the goods were. Insisted on knowing. The stinking idiot! He sits in my house … drinking my Scotch … and then he starts questioning me. I shouted at him. I told him I would charge him for insubordination. Of course he got scared as any sensible 359

man would But he kept sticking to the point till finally … I told him what the goods were. He was highly tickled … he said he never thought the postman was up to such things. But he needed proof … who was the woman … where did she live … what was her name. Blathering idiot. The light fades. Light on the WOMAN reading out from her letter to Asma. WOMAN:

My aunty brought me here and I suppose she approached my father’s relatives. Only my uncle was alive and he has a very very suspicious wife and three daughters. But he took pity on my aunty and somehow got her a job in the municipality school and allowed her to stay in this broken down two room house My grandfather used it as his office … but I think he was a very bad lawyer because he made no money and the family became poorer and poorer. (Looks up.) My poor uncle! His wife would not allow him to visit us or help us in any other way. But you know, Asma! You know the scholarship I got? I think my uncle has something to do with it …. But then why did he take it away from me before I finished school? (Pause.) There are so many things I 360

don’t understand. (Pause.) I feel too shy to ask him. Why aren’t you here, Asma? I need you. How much I need you! The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I couldn’t answer any of the DSP idiot’s questions. I told him just to arrest the bloody postman on some trumped-up charge but he shook his head mournfully and said the rules didn’t allow it. (Shouts.) Rules. Bloody rules. Is there nothing to life but stinking rules? (Pause, then softly.) I only wanted to enjoy life … not to give anyone any trouble … drink a bit … have a woman now and then … that’s all. That’s all. Is it too much to ask?

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing at the desk. WOMAN:

Dearest dear Asma … I’m enjoying myself at the anganwadi. I’m not just looking after the children. I am also teaching them the alphabet. We have no books, you see. So I draw the letters on the floor with chalk and I explain the drawings. We have such fun with the vowels. (Demonstrates.) This is aa, I

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tell them … aa … and then I ask … when do you say aa like that? Do you do it when you want to show your tooth is shaking? Yes? So aa is for a shaking tooth. And when do you say aaa? Maybe when you drink cold water on a hot day? Aaa! Yes. Yes. And so we go down all the vowels. The children now make up their own stories …. Ee is when you see a mouse in the corner … eee is a baby crying …. Oo is biting a green chilli by mistake, oooo is bathing with cold water early in the morning. Ay is calling out to somebody … aay is calling out to somebody far away. (Laughs.) And all the vowels together? They are for making faces! Aa … aaa … ee … eeee … oo … oooo … ay … aay. The children love it. (Laughs.) It’s funny, no? The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

After that disastrous evening with the DSP I realised suddenly that I needed a base of my own … that I needed to wield power that I had built up myself … I needed a career which would make me undisputed master of all that I surveyed. I wanted to … to make them cringe before me … the idiot DSP with his 362

rules … the bloody postman … my stinking father. The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing at her desk. WOMAN:

Darling Asma … I am as confused as you are. I thought after I finished school … I would be clearer about things. But I’m not. I’m not. (Rises and talks as if to Asma.) You know Asma … I wanted so much to go to college. I thought you and I would go to college together maybe in the city and then … but now I wonder … what is the use? If your father doesn’t want you to study any more but get married …. what will you do? What will I do? (Pause.) You ask me about my work. I have moved from teaching children to teaching adults. Literacy classes for adult women. Again … there are no textbooks. I have to teach them the best way I can. (Pause and then speaks out.) Asma … I pretend you are here … just across at the window and you can see me and hear me. I am thinking of you Asma … and I know you are thinking of me … reading my letter … writing a reply.

The light fades. Light on the MAN. 363

MAN:

So I started planning … I began to think of ways in which I could get even with the whole world. Take revenge. What a sweet word it is. Revenge. Hot bloody fanged revenge. (Pause.) I would be like, what’s his name, Shakuni … that schemer from the Mahabharata …. (Pause.) I would be remembered … wouldn’t I? (Laughs.) So I mixed with the masses, began to cultivate them … starting with the workers in my father’s garment factory. (Pause.) You know, it’s all quite noble mixing with the masses but some of them do stink …. (Pause.) She never did. She smelt of jasmine always. Jasmine buds … white and tight.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN talking as if to Asma. WOMAN:

Asma! How unhappy these women are! What a miserable life they lead. It’s not just the poverty. That’s bad enough. It’s also the rules that they have to follow … because they are women. So many rules. Keep your legs closed … keep your mouth shut. Don’t dress up too much because a man will get attracted to you. Don’t make demands because the man might get angry with you. Don’t wear scent. Don’t let the jasmine dangle in your hair. Don’t swing your 364

hips like a prostitute. Don’t smile. Don’t laugh. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

How long did it take? About eight … nine years … two elections in fact. By the time campaigning started for the second one … my father was terrified. He begged me to join him. Join his party. He cringed. (Laughs.) Yes. He bloody cringed. But I was the leader of a major trade union … I had power … I had money … I had men who would do anything for me. I didn’t want to be a mere MLA. My father won with the slenderest of margins that time. He knew and I knew and he knew that I knew that his political life was over. Finished. (Laughs.) I did it … I bloody finished him.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing at the desk. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … I’m finding it so difficult to teach the women. How can I teach them the alipha? These are intelligent women … running a household … working in a factory … they are not five-year-olds. It’s such an insult to make them chant aa aaa ee eee. Yes. I

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did try the same thing with them as I did with the children. Oh Asma … what a difference! (Rises and speaks out.) For the women … aa is their husbands pinching their arm … aaa … is a slap across the face … ee …. is when he picks up a stick … eee … is when he hits her with the stick … oo … is when he pushes her out of the house … ooo … is … I can’t go on Asma … It’s a tale of unending horror … unrelieved darkness … blinding darkness. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

So there I was … the modern Shakuni … the successful Shakuni. I had conquered all my enemies. The idiot DSP had been sent off on a punishment posting to an even more godforsaken place than this. He begged me to retain him here so that his children could finish their education. He’s still waiting. As for the bloody postman … one of my men paid him a little visit and the fellow got a stroke two days later and died. (Laughs.) Power! Sweet power. Better than alcohol. Better than … no. I still wanted her. Wanted her desperately … I would just have to get a whiff of jasmine and my legs would tremble … my fingers would shake. (Pause.) My body outlines hers … her 366

mouth is hot on me … and jasmine is everywhere … white … tight jasmine. The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … You wanted to know whether I planned to make all the women in our country literate. I wish I could …. In this district at least we have more and more women who can sign their names. Who know that the marks on a page have meaning. And memory. You remember I told you that I had made my own textbooks … simplified stories from the epics. The women have been poring over them. Yesterday one of my favourite students … Devi … suddenly asked … why did Gandhari wear a bandage round her eyes? Gandhari was the queen who blindfolded herself because she found she was to marry a blind man. She stayed blindfolded all her life. So Devi asked … did Gandhari not know how to read and write? Was she blind like we were? Now we can see because now we can read and write. But what a stupid woman she was …. Oh Asma … I almost cried for joy … Devi … the others … they don’t take anything for granted anymore. They insist that the 367

drains outside their homes are cleaned … they supervise the children’s school work as much as they can … they even ask the doctor questions. How intelligent they are! How strong ! (Pause.) And I agree with them about Gandhari. She was stupid. She should have kept her eyes open and helped her husband with the kingdom. Blindfolding is just a way of escape. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I thought I had it my way. Finally. The world was at my command … the men in the palm of my hand. They were like human dice … I could set them up … I could throw them down … I could do what I bloody liked with them. (Pause.) But as always with me … trouble was lurking at the backdoor. Back door. (Laughs.)

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … My women are very upset with the teacher at the anganwadi. She is apparently taking away the milk and the food meant for the children’s mid day meal. But how

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does one get proof? The teacher is a very clever woman and is the girlfriend of a man in the trade union. So we have to be careful. I am specially worried because this man Babu is part of red gooseberry eyes’ gang. Did I tell you red gooseberry eyes is a big trade union leader now? I have seen him going in and out of the factory. He looks more and more like a Ravana. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

The trouble started because of Babu who is one of my faithfuls. Strong as an ox and nearly as intelligent. He has a busty girlfriend who works at the child care centre and who apparently has been accused of stealing. I know the woman … (Laughs.) and I’m quite sure that she must have filched the food stuff. But what the hell. If she was smart she wouldn’t get caught. But Babu told me some of the factory women had ganged up against her and were making trouble. Bloody hell. I hated the sound of it even then. But I had to calm Babu down.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing.

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WOMAN:

Asma … it was horrible yesterday. Devi was hiding near the anganwadi and she caught the teacher carrying two bags full of food to her house. The woman said she had got it from the shops but Devi would not listen. There was a big fight … the other women also came running and the men. By the time I reached … red gooseberry eyes was already there. I knew he would be … But he was on his best behaviour and he managed to calm everybody down. He said he would order an enquiry and if the teacher was guilty she would be dismissed. The women were charmed. They said he was like Lord Rama … kingly and handsome … such a fine face. (Pause.) There were only two people there who did not believe him. Devi was one. I was the other.

The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

Bloody women! What a fight over some bags of food. And that Babu’s girlfriend is as stupid as him. Did she have to get herself caught? Anyway, I charmed them into believing that I would set up an enquiry. How easy it was to do that. But two of them were not convinced, I could 370

see. One was the bloody sharp woman who caught the teacher …. The other (Pause.) the other reminded me so piercingly of her that my legs trembled … the same presence … of jasmine … (Pause.) Shit! The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing. WOMAN:

No Asma, don’t worry. Things are calm. Only Devi is still fuming and I know she’s itching to catch that woman again. So am I! You should have seen her face when red gooseberry eyes began his buttery speech. So much triumph. She looked like a raakshasi … like Ravana’s sister Shoorpanakha (Pause.) You keep asking me why I refer so much to Hindu mythology. I suppose it’s because all these stories are a part of me. My religion gives me a god for every occasion … every mood … every life stage. Your god is pure … formless … a being that cannot be described. How can the sun be god, you ask … or a monkey or an elephant? Aren’t you limiting god when you worship him like that? But I think we do it because we feel everything is god … there’s nowhere where he is not. All the 371

abundance of life is him … all the essence of life is also him. My religion shows me the abundance … yours the essence. (Pause, then laughs.) I’m becoming so philosophical, isn’t it? I don’t know why. But dear Asma … I feel very often as if … as if something is coming close to an end. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

I couldn’t get that literacy woman out of my mind. Because of her, I kept remembering those nights … the ecstasy that I’ve never felt again. Shit. (Pause.) Babu was still fuming … the idiot. He felt his girlfriend had been grossly insulted …. Apparently she was slapped … I let him rant for a while and then gave him some money to drown his sorrows. (Pause.) After he left, I thought again about that literacy woman. I wondered where she lived. I wanted to … (Pause.) visit her …

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN talking out. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … it’s night and it’s quiet everywhere. I can smell the jasmine in the air. Remember how we used to

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make jasmine garlands and wear them? (Pause.) Dear Asma … I can’t live without you … your thoughts outline mine … the world is alive because you’ve touched it … I am you … I am me … I am us together. Was there ever such a love? … (Pause, then suddenly.) Who’s that? Who? Devi? Devi what has happened ? … My god! The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

Babu was late … very late. He came in reeling with another of my men, both of them stinking drunk. And then they told me, told me what they had done. Bloody hell. I didn’t know what to do. Then I gave them some more money and told them to get the hell out of town.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN writing. WOMAN:

Asma … She’s dying. Devi is dying … they raped her … two of them … and then whipped her with a bicycle chain … I don’t know how she managed to get here …. I somehow took her to hospital but … but the doctors have

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given up hope. This is Babu’s work. Asma … I know … Devi whispered his name to me before she … the other must have been red gooseberry eyes. I’m sure about that. (Pause.) Asma, I will not let them go … I will not rest till they are hanged for what they did. I will take revenge. I swear it. The light fades. Light on the WOMAN again. WOMAN:

Dear Asma … I am writing this in a great hurry so that it can catch the afternoon post. What you read in the papers is true. Devi is dead … the factory is closed. All the women’s groups in the district have come together … they are demonstrating outside the police station …. in front of the district magistrate’s office … the trade union office … the town is paralysed … I am trying to get a good lawyer to represent us. But nobody here will go against the trade union …. the police are refusing to look for Babu. Red gooseberry eyes had the impudence to allow us to search for him in his house. Of course Babu wasn’t there. I am now getting ready to go to the women’s group in the city. I have to get support. I have to. Pray for me, 374

Asma … to the God everything. Bye, my love.

who

sees

The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

They told me she was going to the city to meet my father. I’m sure the bloody old man would have given her a hearing. Whipped up support for her, just to get even with me. The bloody bastard. I had to stop her.

The light fades. Light on the WOMAN sprawled across the desk. The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

It was the same house. The same back door. The same scent of jasmine. But it wasn’t her. It was a devil, a biting, spitting she-devil. She wouldn’t even listen to me. She screamed when I tried to hold her and accused me of rape. Oh god … I didn’t mean to … (Pause.) Her diary was lying on the table. I brought it home. I have been reading it over and over again for the last three days. Do you know

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who that bloody literacy woman was? She was the brat I had educated. For whom I paid the school fees. My god! … The light fades. Light on the MAN. MAN:

You see me sitting here in this old armchair … sitting back … smoking … apparently at peace. But you are right. I am not at peace. I have been out of my mind for the last three days. I’m bloody frightened. (Pause.) I have to do something. I have to burn the diary, I have to make sure nothing can be traced to me. I have to make sure I’m safe. (Takes his lighter out, lights dim and he flicks the lighter on and starts burning the diary. He starts muttering to himself.) I’m sure nobody saw me go to the house … and nobody saw me return. I am safe … I must be safe. Tomorrow or the day after I will go to the factory and get them to open it … I will attend her funeral and make a heart-rending speech … I will praise her work and pray for her soul. The matter will all die down in a few days … Babu will be back and … (Pause.) Who’s that? Who? Who did you say? (Pause.) Asma?

Blackout.

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Thus spake shoorpanakha, So Said Shakuni 2001 The rather old-fashioned title conceals the contemporary issues that are explored in the play. It is set in a crowded airport in India and the two characters are modern in their speech, attitude and behaviour. But the play intermittently travels back in time to the two Indian epics — the Ramayana and the Mahabharata — and pulls them into present-day relevance. It is possibly for the first time in Indian theatre that Shoorpanakha and Shakuni come together and stories from the two epics are merged. Traditionally, these two characters are considered villains. Shoorpanakha is often depicted as gross, almost grotesque; it is she who, in her determination to take revenge, instigates her brother Ravana to challenge Rama in battle. Shakuni, the wily uncle of the Kauravas, is the cause of the tragic war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. However, though both characters are crucial to the epic narrative, they are forgotten once their function is completed. What if one saw the epics from their point of view? Is it possible that Shoorpanakha and Shakuni were wronged? Should they be viewed as tragic rather than evil? Does their story continue today as injustices against those who do not form the majority, those outside the norm? As we attempt to secure ourselves in our deeply troubled world, it seems to me that we must

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closely question ourselves about our received sense of history and myth. The play challenges the conventional vilification of Shoorpanakha and Shakuni and presents them differently, not only in the narrative but also in stage technique and structure. The actors straddle their different worlds seamlessly, changing costume and make-up on stage, in full view of the audience. This is perhaps the first time in English theatre in India that the script specifically builds in elements of alienation in its production design, creating an illusion and simultaneously abnegating it. The evening before the play premiered in 2001, the world saw on television, the horror of the 11 September attacks on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York. The coincidence was chilling. And so was the reminder that the consequence of revenge remains a relentless, unending tragedy. First performed 12 September 2001 Cast Woman

Rubi Chakravarti

Man

Anil Abraham

Crew Production

Poile Sengupta

Stage Management Lata Ramaswamy, Gagandeep Chhabra

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Sets

Abhijit Sengupta, Salar

Lights

K. M. Chaitanya

Sound

Deepak J. L.

Costumes

Sanheetha Ved

Props

Meghana Dhawan

Direction

Abhijit Sengupta

Co-direction

Poile Sengupta

The stage is set with two chairs centre stage; this is the acting area. Downstage left and downstage right are two clearly defined areas, in full view of the audience, each of which holds the props and costumes needed for the action. There is also a make-up kit and a mirror. The make-up is to be done on stage as and when the text calls for it, either by a make-up artiste or by the actors themselves. The director is also free to place chairs behind the acting area to simulate an airport waiting lounge but whatever business happens here should in no way impinge on the two main actors. Enter WOMAN stage left, dressed in contemporary travelling clothes. She picks up a bulging handbag and a glossy magazine from among the props downstage left, looks around, then seats herself in one of the two chairs, placing her bag on the other. She takes some time settling down. When she is quite comfortable, she scrutinises the cover of the magazine, idly at first, then more deliberately,

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holding it close then further away. It is obvious she cannot read the print. She leans towards the bag, searches untidily for her spectacles case, finds it and is about to put on her glasses when MAN enters. The WOMAN quickly hides the spectacles and the case down the side of her chair and pretends to be absorbed in the magazine. The MAN enters stage right. He is in a terrific hurry — he picks up a rather heavy briefcase from among the props downstage right, strides towards the chairs, then checks himself. MAN:

Is this chair taken?

Silence. MAN:

(Louder.) Is this chair taken, Madam?

No answer. MAN:

(Shouts.) Madam, is this chair reserved?

The WOMAN starts, drops her magazine, is overcome and covers her cheeks with her hands. WOMAN:

Oh! Oh sir! How you startled me!

MAN:

(Still shouting.) Madam, could you please remove your pet handbag from this chair so I can sit down?

WOMAN:

You don’t have to shout. I can hear perfectly well. (Removes the handbag.) 380

A crackling airport announcement, quite incoherent, about further flight delay. As it comes on, the MAN sits down, placing his briefcase as close to his feet as possible. He takes a folded newspaper from his coat pocket and begins to read it. The WOMAN picks up her magazine and thumbs the pages, then pretends that something has caught her eye and reads the page closely. Silence. MAN:

If you need glasses, why the hell don’t you wear them?

WOMAN:

(Genuinely startled.) What!

MAN:

And a hearing aid as well.

WOMAN:

(Shouts.) I told you, I can hear perfectly well.

MAN:

So can I, if you don’t mind.

WOMAN:

(Still shouting.) And I can see perfectly well too.

MAN:

So you read that rag upside down.

Pause. WOMAN:

I can read things upside down.

MAN:

I see. Maybe you should join a circus.

Silence.

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MAN:

Or a zoo.

The WOMAN stands, picks up her handbag, stuffs the magazine into it and moves towards stage left. Then she suddenly stops and whirls around. WOMAN:

Look, whoever you are. I have no idea why you are so abominably rude to a woman you have never met before. If you wanted me to vacate that goddam chair, just say so.

MAN:

I do.

Pause. WOMAN:

Good. I’m glad that’s clear.

She sits down again just as the MAN is about to put his briefcase on the chair. Pause. WOMAN:

Chairs are not meant for inanimate objects.

MAN:

That’s what I had thought too.

WOMAN:

(Ignoring his remark.) Especially when there is not a vacant chair anywhere in sight. And the place is full of highly inflammable people waiting for delayed flights … indefinitely delayed flights.

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Pause. WOMAN:

Do you know I’ve travelled at breakneck speed to get here on time? Because I had no idea the flight was delayed?

Pause. MAN:

(Mutters.) I wish you had broken your neck.

WOMAN:

Did you do that too?

MAN:

What?

WOMAN:

Come through the town at breakneck speed? Or did you know the flight was delayed?

Pause. MAN:

Would I be here if I knew?

Pause. WOMAN:

Right. You come all the way and you are told … Madam, you have to wait. The flight is delayed. Indefinitely delayed. They make it sound as if we have to wait infinitely. Madam, your flight is delayed. Infinitely delayed ….

Pause.

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WOMAN:

Why do you think it’s delayed?

MAN:

How do I know? Why don’t you go and ask your good friend at the counter?

WOMAN:

Hope it’s not one of those bomb things.

MAN:

(Agitated.) What? What did you say?

WOMAN:

You know these people who’ve got late for the flight and they call and tell the airport that there is a bomb on the plane. And of course everybody knows it’s a hoax but you can’t take a chance, can you? You have to search the aircraft and keep everybody waiting.

The MAN visibly calms down. Pause. WOMAN:

Some people are so inconsiderate.

MAN:

I agree …. Obtuse also.

WOMAN:

But as somebody or the other said, if rape is inevitable …

MAN:

Look, lady. If you want to sit here, you have to keep your mouth shut.

WOMAN:

Why?

MAN:

I don’t want to talk to you, that’s bloody why.

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WOMAN:

What a sweet temperament you have. What’s your zodiac sign?

Silence. WOMAN:

You know something? I have a feeling you don’t like people.

MAN:

I don’t.

WOMAN:

Don’t what?

MAN:

I don’t like people. I hate people …

WOMAN:

I see. Do you hate everybody? Or just some particular people?

Pause. WOMAN:

What about … your family? Do you hate them too?

Pause. WOMAN:

Strange that you can hate people. I mean … look at me … I hate the colour purple. I really hate it. I never wear purple. The other day …

MAN:

Look. Will you just shut up? And go back to where you came from? To the …

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WOMAN:

To the hotel? You want me to go back twenty five kilometres to a hotel where they …

MAN:

Where they chucked you out, is it? Where did you ply your trade? In the back kitchen?

Pause. WOMAN:

What’s happened, lover? No sex in the last six hours?

MAN:

Shut up.

WOMAN:

Poor you. Must be so frustrating. No woman would like to be seen dead in bed with you. Except … what’s the use of her dead anyway ?

MAN:

Fuck off. Just fuck bloody off.

WOMAN:

Alright, I will. But let me inform you that there has been a wildcat strike by the ground staff and you might have to be here till doomsday.

She walks towards stage left and then returns. WOMAN:

I will also be delighted if you are plagued by a joint family with a large, toothy grandmother, a complaining daughter-in-law and two brats with running noses.

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The WOMAN turns around, walks to the props area stage left and stands/sits with her back to the audience. The MAN puts the newspaper back in his pocket, picks up his briefcase and places it on the vacated chair. The case does not sit properly; he feels around and finds the spectacles and the case. He looks at them smiling, looks through the lens, puts the glasses into the case and slides the case towards downstage left. He then wedges his briefcase securely into the chair, turns, puts his feet up on the case, drapes himself across the two chairs as comfortably as possible. Enter WOMAN. She strides up to the MAN. WOMAN:

Move.

The MAN snores. WOMAN:

Move your hooves off my chair.

More snoring. WOMAN:

(Shouts.) Move your fucking …

MAN:

(Sleepily.) Oh, it’s you. I have thrown your glasses over there. Please pick them up and go away like a good harridan.

The WOMAN bends as if to pick up the briefcase. The MAN jumps up.

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MAN:

No. Don’t touch that. Don’t … touch it.

He picks up the case and puts it down beside him. MAN:

(Softly, menacingly.) Don’t ever touch my things again. Do you understand? Do you … under … stand?

The WOMAN shrugs her shoulders and settles down as before, skimming through her magazine. The MAN leans back, his foot touching his briefcase. Silence. WOMAN:

I better warn connections.

you.

I

have

high

Silence. WOMAN:

One of my brothers … my stepbrother actually … is rich enough to buy up all of the Middle East.

Pause. WOMAN:

And my own brother, who will do anything for me, is as … as strong and … and as powerful as ten men …

Silence. WOMAN:

(Fiercely.) You don’t believe me, is it? 388

MAN:

No, no. I believe you completely … That’s why you are travelling economy …

WOMAN:

Alright, laugh at me. Laugh all you want. When you see what I can do, you will laugh on the other side of your face.

MAN:

I see.

WOMAN:

Yes. I am not as innocent as I look.

MAN:

(Snorts.) Innocent!

Pause. WOMAN:

I’m an enchantress.

Pause. WOMAN:

Did you hear? I am an enchantress.

MAN:

I heard you …. And you enchant whom?

WOMAN:

Everybody. Every heterosexual man. Even … even married men. Especially married men.

MAN:

Ah!

WOMAN:

What?

MAN:

That’s why you couldn’t enchant me.

Pause.

389

MAN:

I’m not married.

Silence. WOMAN:

(Softly.) Do you know what it’s like … to be a woman … to want a man so much that … that the rest of the world disappears?

Silence. WOMAN:

The rest of the world just disappears.

The MAN stretches out his hand and touches the WOMAN for a second. WOMAN:

(Trying to be normal.) Well, that’s life, I suppose …

Pause. WOMAN:

Tell me … what’s in your briefcase?

MAN:

Nothing.

WOMAN:

Nothing … looks pretty heavy.

Silence. WOMAN:

Gold?

Silence. WOMAN:

Electronic goods? Or maybe … 390

MAN:

Books.

WOMAN:

Oh!

Pause. WOMAN:

What kind of books?

MAN:

Not meant for you.

WOMAN:

What do you mean?

MAN:

Intellectual books. Poetry. Drama. The epics.

WOMAN:

Epics!

MAN:

Yes. Indian epics. You wouldn’t have heard of them.

WOMAN:

Of course I have. I went to a convent school. Oh, the Ramayana … I just love the Ramayana, don’t you? It’s so (Pause.) cute … so romantic.

Pause. WOMAN:

Like a Mills and Boon.

MAN:

What?

WOMAN:

You know. The eternal triangle. One man. Two women.

MAN:

What are you talking about?

WOMAN:

Don’t you remember the story? … See … there is this man … this prince. He 391

gets banished from his kingdom for some odd reason … that’s quite unimportant anyway…. He goes off into the forest with his brother wearing … wearing (Whispers.) almost … nothing. Pause. WOMAN:

He’s taken off all his princely robes, you see (Pause.) …. Oh … I forgot to say that he is married.

MAN:

Look. I’m not interested in this, okay? Neither in this man nor his brother.

WOMAN:

Who the hell is bothered about the brother? … Though I must say that as a substitute … (Trailing off.) he wasn’t that bad …. The same set of shoulder … the narrow hips … the …

Pause. WOMAN:

Anyway, there they are in the forest living in a pretty little cottage when this absolutely stunning woman comes along. The two brothers, especially the older one, is bowled over. Totally bowled over.

MAN:

That’s not what I’ve heard.

WOMAN:

Were you there?

MAN:

Of course not. 392

WOMAN:

Then how happened?

do

MAN:

And you were there.

you

know

what

Pause. WOMAN:

It’s my story. (Pause.) I was her.

Pause. MAN:

(Sarcastically.) Who? The wife?

WOMAN:

Don’t be ridiculous. Do I look like a wife?

MAN:

How would I know? I told you. I’m not married.

WOMAN:

You don’t have to be married to know what a wife looks like. They are all over the place. Wives. (Spits out the word.) Bloody wives.

Pause. The WOMAN gets up from the chair. WOMAN:

All over the place. Like … like pigeons. Cooing (Coos.) like bloody pigeons. Come home soon darling … I’ve cooked you your favourite dinner. Do you know your son has come thirty-first

393

in class? Such an improvement. Just like his father. Pause. WOMAN:

And then they get headaches, these wives. They always get headaches when they go to bed …. Such a long day, darling. I had to wait at the jeweller’s for so long looking for the biggest diamond …. And then I went for a movie. You don’t mind, do you, darling? You are so sweet, darling … (Makes a kissing sound.) Good night then.

MAN:

Ah! Now I know why I didn’t get married.

WOMAN:

Who would want to be a wife? To be a pigeon. Grey and stupid and cooing … cooing all the time.

MAN:

There are other kinds of wives.

WOMAN:

Oh yes, there are. Those are the crows. Caw! Caw! Why are you so late? What did you do with your salary? Caw …. Why haven’t you paid the school fees? Caw … Caw. Who is that bitch I saw you with? Caw! … Caw …

The WOMAN coughs. Pause. 394

MAN:

So you are neither the one or the other. Not the pigeon nor the crow.

Pause. WOMAN:

I am the other woman. Beautiful … sexy …. (Pause.) Hot.

MAN:

(Laughs.) You never get headaches.

WOMAN:

Don’t you dare laugh at me like that.

Pause. WOMAN:

It was one of those cool green mornings in the forest. Everything was hushed, everything was waiting. The sun light darted through the leaves like a tongue of desire.… It glinted on my nose stud, it sparkled along the bangles on my arms, it lingered at the jewel in my bosom …. Then … then I saw him.

Pause. WOMAN:

He was alone, standing at the door of his cottage. He … how do I describe him? He was the most desirable man I had ever seen and yet it was not his eyes or lips, or his fingers or his wide shoulders that took away … took away the breath in my throat. It was what happened to me in that instant. I

395

wanted him to tear my clothes off and tear through me and yet I also wanted him to be tender and melting. I would suckle him. I would hold him in my arms in the darting sunlight, in the light of the moon and the stars and I would kiss those feet that held all the sunsets of the universe. Silence. MAN:

All that is very beautiful, dear lady, but what did you have to offer this idol of male perfection?

WOMAN:

Who the hell are you to laugh at me, you bloody misogynist? … I’ll … I’ll show you who I am and what I can do.

The WOMAN grabs her handbag and flounces out stage left to the props area. MAN:

(Laughs.) You’ve forgotten your glasses again.

He looks at his watch and leans back in his chair again. Airport announcement about a further delay. The MAN sits up and snarls. He looks at his watch again, picks up the briefcase, is about to open it, then changes his mind and puts it down again. He leans back in his chair but it is evident that he is agitated. He then exits, picks up an angavastram and returns to his chair.

396

Meanwhile, the WOMAN dresses herself in a bright scarf which she winds round her neck leaving the ends hanging. She accentuates her eyes and mouth with make-up, wears long earrings, a nose stud and a long glittering chain that swings as she moves. She changes her handbag to a more sophisticated slim bag and wears shoes with heels. As she enters the acting area, she swings her hips ever so subtly. WOMAN:

(Softly.) Excuse me, is that chair occupied?

The MAN jumps up. He assumes a shift in character as if he is playing along with the WOMAN. MAN:

No … no ma’am. It’s quite … quite empty.

WOMAN:

Thank you so much.

She sits. The MAN sits only after she has settled down. Pause. They speak together. MAN:

Would you …

WOMAN:

Such a bore …

MAN:

Sorry. You said …?

397

WOMAN:

I’m so sorry. I was just saying it’s such a bore, this flight delay. And you …

MAN:

Sorry?

WOMAN:

What were you saying?

MAN:

Oh, I was wondering … I was wondering whether you’d … you’d like a cigarette.

WOMAN:

I’d love one. Thanks so much.

He takes out a packet of cigarettes, hands her one, takes one for himself and then extends a lighter towards her. She leans towards more him closely than required, looking at him all the while. He lights her cigarette, then his and rises to his feet. MAN:

Yes. It is a bore … this … this flight delay.

WOMAN:

Do you know? This is the third time it has happened to me this week.

MAN:

Oh! So you … you travel a lot.

WOMAN:

Yes, a lot. Work you know … and (Laughs.) other things.

MAN:

Do you travel all over the country or …?

WOMAN:

Well … mostly in the south. Sometimes I get to go abroad. But that’s just sometimes.

Pause. 398

WOMAN:

What do you do?

MAN:

Um … well … this and that actually.

WOMAN:

Ooh! That … sounds marvellous.

MAN:

At the moment … well … at the moment … this is marvellous.

The WOMAN gives a delighted laugh and rises. WOMAN:

The flight delay?

MAN:

And … and everything else.

WOMAN:

This?

She goes up to him and puts her head on his shoulders, face upwards towards his, lips parted. He backs away. WOMAN:

(Laughs.) What’s the matter? Scared? Like the other one?

MAN:

Of course not … not at all. It’s just that … just that it’s too soon … I mean … we’ve just met.

The following lines are spoken with the WOMAN at ease, in control, and the MAN more and more confused. WOMAN:

That’s what he said too, the other one. But listen my lord, listen my lotus-eyed

399

one … the time for love is … now …. Now … darling. Right here. MAN:

Love?

The WOMAN laughs. MAN:

You mean … you …. me? Love?

WOMAN:

It’s just a word, sweetie … a four-letter word. Come. Come on.

She begins to unbutton her blouse. MAN:

But …

The WOMAN pauses. WOMAN:

But?

MAN:

I … I don’t even know your name.

WOMAN:

(Laughs.) I’m Kaamavalli goddess of desire ….

…

the

Come … I’m all shivery for you.… Come. MAN:

Listen. Please … listen. You look like an educated woman … and from … from a respectable family.

WOMAN:

I’ve heard that fucking argument before from that … that Vishnuavatara.

400

MAN:

I’m sure … it’s not right for you to … to …

WOMAN:

To what?

MAN:

You know … to …

WOMAN:

To have casual sex with a stranger?

Silence. WOMAN:

Is that it?

Silence. WOMAN:

Is that it?

MAN:

(Whispers.) Yes.

WOMAN:

(Laughs.) Oh god! What a wimp you are … just like that one.

MAN:

That one?

WOMAN:

I told you … the married one … he had the same fucking scruples … wouldn’t let me get near him …

MAN:

Well … he was married, wasn’t he? He was committed to …

WOMAN:

(Furious.) Commitment! Bleeding commitment! Mucking everything up. Just mucking every sodden thing up.

401

She flops on the ground with her legs outstretched and bursts out crying. The MAN becomes the rude traveller again. MAN:

Shut your mouth, woman. Shut your bloody mouth.

The WOMAN wails even louder. MAN:

Will you shut up, you bitch? And close your fucking legs.

The wailing continues. MAN:

(Grimly.) If you don’t stop that I’ll … (Makes a swipe across her chest.)

WOMAN:

(Screams.) Don’t! Don’t please. Please. (Sobs.)

MAN:

Then get up and behave like a decent woman.

WOMAN:

You know what they did to me … the two brothers … they laughed. Laughed at me. They teased me. Mocked me. The older one said, ask my brother … he might want you … the younger one said … I can’t marry without my brother’s consent … ask him …. They tossed me this way and that, as if … as if I did not deserve any more respect. As if I was a … a broken plaything.

402

hurt

me,

Pause. WOMAN:

And then the younger one …. you know what he did?

MAN:

Yes.

WOMAN:

He chopped off my breasts.

MAN:

Your breasts.

WOMAN:

(Whispers.) And my ears and my nose.

MAN:

(Laughs.) Your nose … your bleeding nose.

WOMAN:

Whatever stood out from me. Whatever stuck out.

Pause. WOMAN:

I was bleeding … all down my face … my chest … bleeding … Was it so wrong to tell a man ‘I love you’?

Pause. WOMAN:

I was wailing. I was raging, I was sobbing. I wanted to hit him … I wanted to squeeze him. I wanted to lie under him and watch his face change.

MAN:

You wanted revenge …

Pause.

403

MAN:

Revenge.

WOMAN:

I wanted love …. Just a little love … for a little while.

MAN:

I wanted revenge too. Hot … bloody … fanged revenge.

The MAN exits abruptly stage right. He moves into the props area, wears a colourful cap and waistcoat. He also pencils in a moustache. In the acting area, the WOMAN holds out her palm as if it is a mirror and looks closely at her face for a minute. She cries out and covers her face with her hands. The lights dim. When the lights come on again, the WOMAN is sitting on a chair, looking at the briefcase. She stretches her arm out to pick it up when the MAN enters. She quickly withdraws her arm. MAN:

(Speaking as he enters.) How was I to know? It all seemed absolutely fine … the wedding arrangements … the music … the pretty girls … all ceremony … all smiles. How the hell was I to know?

WOMAN:

Know what?

MAN:

It must have been the heat … the heat in the plains after the hills. The hills where I grew … cool … innocent hills.

404

But the heat … it turned my head, made me weak … tired … otherwise I would have taken her away the moment I knew … before they put that jewelled noose round her neck. WOMAN:

Taken her? Who … her?

MAN:

Revenge. I wanted revenge … to throttle all their necks …

He holds the WOMAN’s neck between his hands. MAN:

… like this.

The WOMAN struggles and pushes him away. WOMAN:

(Slightly hoarse.) What the hell are you doing? Who are you anyway?

The MAN’s eyes begin to focus as he finally acknowledges the presence of the WOMAN. He laughs. MAN:

I am an illusionist. Like you.

Pause. MAN:

In the other epic.

WOMAN:

You mean …

MAN:

Jaya, also known as the Mahabharata …. The story of that god damn Kuru

405

clan. They brought my sister all the way down from the hills and they … WOMAN:

Yes?

MAN:

(Shouting.) They never told her. They never told her anything. They cheated us … that’s what they did … cheated us …

Pause. MAN:

But I should have known, isn’t it? Not to trust them. The Kurus … I should have kept her away altogether …. not agreed to the alliance at all.

Pause. WOMAN:

(Softly.) What did they do?

Pause. MAN:

They brought her ceremoniously … grandly … for a royal wedding … a grand royal wedding … to be married to a … blind man …

WOMAN:

What?

MAN:

(Shouts.) A blind man … a bloody blind man. Blind from birth.

Pause.

406

MAN:

And she … she …

WOMAN:

What did she do? Did she refuse to get married? Or …

MAN:

Ha! You think she could have refused? An alliance between two royal families … officially announced … publicised … talked about …

WOMAN:

But did no one … nobody else tell you about the man being blind?

MAN:

My dear woman … when there is a proposal of this sort from a great royal house, a bride for the prince himself, do you think the girl’s family would make inquiries about him? They had no choice. My family are just simple hill folk, you know ….

WOMAN:

And when you found out?

Pause. MAN:

I was the only one from the family who came with my sister. And when I found out … what could I do? I ranted and raved. They plied me with sweets and sweet words … they gave me a magnificent palace …. What could I do, damn it? I was in their bloody kingdom … in their hands.

Pause.

407

WOMAN:

And your sister?

MAN:

She … she did something terrible.

WOMAN:

You mean she … killed herself?

MAN:

No. Nothing as cowardly. She merely … she … deliberately blindfolded herself. She wore a dark, thick, bloody bandage over her eyes … kept it there all twenty-four hours, all her life. Blinded. Living in constant darkness … in unrelenting night. (Softly.) She who was as free as the birds flying across the hills … why did she choose … choose to blot out the sun?

Pause. WOMAN:

She was that angry.

MAN:

Yes.

Pause. WOMAN:

As angry as I was.

Pause. MAN:

You? Shoorpanakha? The demoness?

WOMAN:

I belong to the mighty asura clan.

MAN:

And you know all the tricks. You use beauty, the illusion of beauty, don’t you,

408

to trap all those poor fools? Like that purple flower with an exotic Latin name … and then when they get close they smell the garlic. And the blood of the men you have gorged on. WOMAN:

How dare you say this to me?

MAN:

What do you have to be angry about, ogress? You tried to seduce a married man … he repulsed you. So what? You could always have tried your art on other married fools.

WOMAN:

I fell in love with him, don’t you see? I was all open to him … like the earth receiving the rain. And he … he was entranced too. He talked to me as if … as if he needed all those arguments … about respectability and fucking commitment … to keep away from me. Otherwise if I so much as touched his elbow, he would crumple into my arm and suck the breath out through my lips.

The MAN snorts. MAN:

Why don’t you tell the truth? You lusted for him.

You wanted sex with him. WOMAN:

Yes. I did. Is that wrong? 409

Pause. WOMAN:

But then something strange happened. Has it happened to you? You think of somebody all the time … all the bloody time … while you are working … eating … travelling … even when you are asleep …. And then it’s not just sex anymore. It’s … (Softly.) it’s as if I am dissolved in him, his body outlines mine, his fingertips awaken everything I touch.

Pause. WOMAN:

Your sister lost only her sight. I lost myself … I lost me.

Pause. WOMAN:

Can’t you see? Because I love him … I’ve forgotten how he hurt me. And I … (Softly.) I can’t hurt anyone anymore. I have lost the need to hurt ….

MAN:

For god’s sake, you sound like a bloody saint.

WOMAN:

Oh, fuck you. Do you have to classify me? … (Wearily.) I am a woman, don’t you understand? A woman. Not a saint. Not a whore. Not just a mother, a sister, a daughter. I am a woman.

410

Airport announcement. She storms off stage left to the props area where she is made up as if she has lost her nose. The MAN, still in the acting area, takes a pair of old style dice from his pocket, looks at them, puts them back in his pocket and then exits stage right to the props area where he is made up to look much older and more sly. The MAN enters the acting area first, walking as an older, cynical man and sits down. The WOMAN enters, carrying an unlit lamp. The MAN starts out of his chair. WOMAN:

This is what they did. You can’t believe it, right?

MAN:

My god! It’s …

WOMAN:

… sick … I know … I don’t look at myself in the mirror anymore.

MAN:

Does it hurt?

WOMAN:

I can’t breathe properly. I have to use my mouth. And I can’t smell anything.

MAN:

You could have got something done. A sort of nose job.

WOMAN:

For what? … He won’t even look at me again.

MAN:

For god’s sake, woman … there are other men in the world. Someone who would … 411

WOMAN:

There is nobody like him.

Silence. The WOMAN sits on the ground. WOMAN:

You know what makes it so much worse?

MAN:

What?

WOMAN:

His wife. She was …. You couldn’t stop wanting to look at her … even I couldn’t …. And yet I don’t know what it was, what was so different about her ….

The lights dim as the WOMAN lights the lamp. Now only the light from the lamp is seen. The MAN comes closer and watches the flame. WOMAN:

(Softly.) My brother said she held in herself the radiance of a lamp … soft … delicate … luminous. What is it she had that I didn’t?

MAN:

You were not the same. You were an asura.

WOMAN:

So? You were from the hills. Does that make us both less human? Do our hearts not know love?

MAN:

Do our minds not have intelligence?

Pause.

412

WOMAN:

My brother fell in love. He tricked Sita and took her away to his palace. But she kept him from touching even the hem of her garment … he told me that when he tried to go near her, it was as if something scorched his eyes …

Pause. WOMAN:

He was obsessed.

Pause. WOMAN:

What? You too?

She blows out the lamp. The lights come on. The MAN returns to his chair. WOMAN:

My brother went to take revenge for my sake. Instead he came back lovesick … an elephant in masth ….

MAN:

When you want revenge, you should be completely focussed … every part of you must plan the revenge.

WOMAN:

Is that what you did?

MAN:

(Laughs.) I was so clever …. You should have seen me. I pretended I was a friend of the Kurus … that I was on their side. My … my brother-in-law

413

was such a dummy, just an uncrowned bloody king. His sons were not even in the direct line of succession. The rightful heir was actually his brother’s eldest son Dharmaputra …. So I … WOMAN:

But your brother-in-law’s sons were your sister’s children too, your own nephews, weren’t they?

MAN:

They were my nephews, yes … all of them. But when plotting revenge, nothing else is important … not my nephews … not me …. Finally … not even my sister.… I wanted to turn everything to dust. Dust and ashes.

WOMAN:

So?

MAN:

So I started the war … between the cousins … between teacher and student … between friend and friend. The mother of all wars.

The WOMAN gets up and sits on the chair. WOMAN:

How? You got your nephews to pick a fight, is it?

MAN:

How unsubtle can you be? Of course not. I merely asked my nephews to invite their cousins for a game.

WOMAN:

A game?

414

MAN:

A game of chance. A game of … dice. What could be more innocuous?

He sits on the ground and takes out the dice. MAN:

I played on behalf of my nephews. In full view of the royal assembly, in front of the entire court. I threw the dice. Dharmaputra lost … I threw again … he lost. Again. I threw … he lost … he lost … he lost … they lost … their horses … their cattle … their palace … their estates … the kingdom …

Pause. MAN:

And then I mocked him. I said to him … stake your younger brothers, the twins … he did … and lost. Lost them both. Then he staked Arjuna, the handsome one … lost him … Bhima, the strong brother … lost him … Then …

WOMAN:

Then?

MAN:

Himself.

WOMAN:

Lost.

Pause. MAN:

And then his wife.

WOMAN:

He staked his wife?

415

Pause. MAN:

She was … was dragged to the court … the princess … by her hair … my nephews … they taunted her … mocked her … they …

WOMAN:

Yes?

MAN:

They tried to disrobe her. (He covers his face.)

Silence. The MAN regains his composure. He rises and returns the counters to his pocket. MAN:

It was all part of my plan anyway. The five brothers and the wife were exiled for thirteen years and they left the city as the crowds wailed …. But I did not let my bloody nephews forget their hate. I coaxed their hatred … I fed it … I inflamed it and finally there was war.

Pause. WOMAN:

I started a war too. But it was not fought for my sake.

Pause.

416

WOMAN:

It was for hers … that woman whom my idiot brother kidnapped. Who remembered me?

Pause. WOMAN:

You know something? You were the better brother.

MAN:

What was the use? My sister never spoke to me. She became a Kuru. Sightless like them.

WOMAN:

A married woman is expected to be part of her husband’s family, not her father’s.

MAN:

So she forgot everything … her childhood … her girlhood? We used to climb the hills together and see the world spread out like a travelling fair below us. Her cheeks would redden in the wind … and her hair would get into her eyes … and she would pull it back, so irritated … and then suddenly she would … she would look at me and laugh as if we were …

Pause. MAN:

(Abruptly.) Why don’t you put your nose back, for god’s sake?

WOMAN:

Why? Does it hurt you to see me hurt?

417

MAN:

(Shouts.) I know nothing about hurt, okay? Hurt is a woman’s emotion. A woman’s.

WOMAN:

I see. So it’s not real. Or important.

MAN:

For god’s sake … just leave me alone. Please leave me alone.

The WOMAN exits, carrying her bag, to the stage left props area where she takes off her make-up and accessories and returns to being the airport traveller. In the meanwhile, the MAN broods over the briefcase, picks it up, unlocks it and quickly puts it down as the WOMAN enters and sits on the chair. WOMAN:

I have been thinking … How is it that you won the game so easily? You mean this … this Dharmaputra was such a bad player?

Pause. MAN:

I told you I was … I was … an illusionist. I doctored the dice.

WOMAN:

I see.

MAN:

(Suddenly furious.) What do you see? You see nothing. Do you know what they did, the Kurus, much before all this? When they were still drunk with their conquering prowess? They came up to the north, to the borders of our

418

kingdom. We fought them off … we are warriors too, you know, as good as them … they couldn’t go any further … They withdrew but my brothers and I were taken prisoner and cast into a dungeon. Pause. MAN:

The negotiating started … talks … bargaining … for twelve months … twelve stinking months …. Something would be agreed on … then withdrawn … the talks would break down … then start again …. The jailers would tell us when they came with the food …. Then … then … my brothers made a pact. They decided that they would give all their pitiable rations to me so that I would live to take revenge … I was the youngest, you see … and the strongest.

WOMAN:

I haven’t ever heard this story. Are you making it up?

MAN:

They died one by one … my brothers … and I survived … just barely …. Suddenly I was released. I returned home and found everyone busy with the preparations for my sister’s wedding …

WOMAN:

You mean she was … 419

MAN:

I don’t know … (Shouts.) I don’t know, I tell you … I wasn’t there … I was watching my brothers die.

Pause. MAN:

(Laughs.) But you think I abandoned them in that foul dungeon? How would I do that?… I carried them back with me ….

WOMAN:

Carried them back?

MAN:

My dice was made of their bones.

Pause. MAN:

Every time I rolled their bones in my fingers, I could feel their power. What chance did Dharmaputra have? (Pause.) Poor fellow! I felt sorry for him. And the Kurus … the older idiots … the guru … the teachers … the kingmakers … shocked that I could do such a thing …. That I could start a war … I was the villain … the sly, cunning manipulator … they turned their backs to me … they spat on the ground as I passed, those bloody cheaters … the arrogant … fucking … (Abruptly.) I need a smoke.

The MAN exits stage left to the props area where he takes off his make-up and accessories to look like the traveller again. In the meanwhile, the 420

WOMAN sits still for a moment, then moves quickly to the briefcase, picks it up and looks inside it. She puts it back carefully, then moves downstage as the MAN enters. From this point the WOMAN is more circumspect in what she says and how she behaves. MAN:

I’m sorry. I keep losing my temper.

WOMAN:

I understand. I have a temper too.

MAN:

Why are you standing there anyway? Is there news of the flight? Couldn’t hear a thing in that damn loo.

WOMAN:

What? Oh! No! Nothing like that. I came to pick up my spectacles and then I … I just kept standing here … thinking … (Picks up the case.)

The MAN picks up the briefcase and locks it. MAN:

(Laughing.) Kept all my gold unlocked.

WOMAN:

Books, you said.

MAN:

Yes of course. Books. That’s what I meant.

Pause. MAN:

When I read the Mahabharata, I was fascinated by Gandhari’s brother Shakuni. Do you remember him?

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WOMAN:

Yes.

MAN:

And you thought of him as a villain, didn’t you?

WOMAN:

(Cautiously.) Yes … I suppose so.

MAN:

Now what’s the matter with you, damn it?

WOMAN:

Nothing. I mean … what should be the matter with me? I hate waiting, that’s all.

MAN:

That was Impatience.

WOMAN:

I beg your pardon?

MAN:

You’ve got all polite now, have you?

WOMAN:

(Walking back to sit.) What do you mean — impatience?

MAN:

The worst of all vices. Look at Shakuni. How grandly he planned the whole thing. How patiently he waited. And he got his reward, didn’t he?

WOMAN:

What reward?

MAN:

Don’t you know the story, you stupid woman? Shakuni started the war and got the Pandava brothers to kill all the Kurus. The whole bloody lot of them. (Laughs.) And the best thing was … the best thing was that the poor Kauravas,

always

422

your

problem.

at least Shakuni’s nephews, thought their uncle was strenuously working for their good. What a joke! WOMAN:

But that’s what everybody thinks. That Shakuni was the wicked uncle, the powermonger who wanted his sister’s son on the throne. And therefore started the war.

MAN:

(Quietly.) I know. That’s what I was told too. But when I began reading the Mahabharata … I felt that Shakuni hadn’t been given his due. So I did some more reading and finding out, and I heard the story of his imprisonment and his brothers dying and then … I realised.

WOMAN:

Realised?

MAN:

That he was a victim.

WOMAN:

Like Shoorpanakha.

MAN:

Like …? My dear woman, Shoorpanakha was … (Laughs.) Oh, alright. If Shakuni was an underdog, Shoorpanakha was a … bitch.

The WOMAN rises and moves downstage. WOMAN:

You call yourself politically sensitive, do you?

423

MAN:

I don’t have to call myself anything … I am …

WOMAN:

Hah! Much underdog.

MAN:

Look here …

WOMAN:

Who was Shoorpanakha?

MAN:

A bitch.

WOMAN:

A woman.

MAN:

A demoness.

WOMAN:

Why do you demoness?

MAN:

Oh god! Because … because …

WOMAN:

Because she was dark and big. She wasn’t the way men like women to be. Fair-complexioned. Delicate. Shy … biddable.

you

call

represent

her

that?

the

A

Pause. WOMAN:

Look at the Ramayana. The hero is tall … straight-nosed … handsome. The villain is grotesque with ten heads. The heroine is slender-waisted, dazzlingly fair. The vamp is dark, swarthy, big. Outspoken. Coarse. Therefore the vamp is a demoness. Because she

424

speaks her mind. Because she takes up space. The MAN rises to his feet. MAN:

(Slowly.) My god!

WOMAN:

What was Shoorpanakha’s crime? That she approached a man with sexual desire?

MAN:

The whole thing was a plot. The wife got herself kidnapped so that the husband could come conquering. A masterly plot …

The MAN and WOMAN sit on the ground as if they are playing a game of dice. WOMAN:

Shoorpanakha merely wanted love.

MAN:

The Aryan greed.

WOMAN:

She wasn’t beautiful in the ideal way. So?

MAN:

Their stinking race superiority.

WOMAN:

She did not behave like a well-bred woman. So?

MAN:

They came all the way south carrying their arrogance like a blood thirsty sword.

425

WOMAN:

She showed off her breasts and thrust out her hips. So?

MAN:

They thought they were invincible, is it?

WOMAN:

They hacked off her breasts.

MAN:

They were conspirators.

WOMAN:

Violators.

MAN:

They violated all human rights.

WOMAN:

They assaulted a defenceless woman.

MAN:

They waged a wrongful, a totally unjustified war.

WOMAN:

Yes.

The WOMAN rises. MAN:

And what does history make them out to be?

Pause. WOMAN:

History?

Pause. The MAN rises. MAN:

Isn’t it history?

Pause.

426

WOMAN:

I thought it was myth.

MAN:

What is the difference?

Pause. MAN:

We carry it in our bloodstream, don’t we?

WOMAN:

What?

MAN:

Whether it’s history or myth, we carry a Shoorpanakha …

WOMAN:

… or a Shakuni …

Pause. MAN:

or a Shakuni …

WOMAN:

… in our blood.

MAN:

Political vengeance.

WOMAN:

Unrequited love.

MAN:

Hate.

WOMAN:

Love.

MAN:

Destruction. Annihilation.

WOMAN:

Love.

MAN:

(Shouts.) Shut up. Stop bleating that four-letter word all the bloody time.

WOMAN:

It’s as powerful as hate.

427

MAN:

Nonsense. Fucking nonsense.

WOMAN:

Love. Hate. Bomb. All four-letter words.

Silence. MAN:

You know.

Pause. WOMAN:

I know what there is in your briefcase. Why? Why is it there?

MAN:

I have been planning it a long time.

Pause. MAN:

My home … my land is being torn apart. They took away my brother. Said he was an informer.

Pause. MAN:

We found his body a week later. He had no fingernails. No toenails.

Pause. MAN:

Then my sister …. My thirteen-year-old sister … they … (Shouts.) You think I have any … bleeding … love … left in me?

Silence.

428

Airport announcement for passengers’ security check. WOMAN:

How will you get it through?

MAN:

I have a friend at the security. A greedy man with a large family.

WOMAN:

And the X-ray?

MAN:

It doesn’t work here.

WOMAN:

So you have it all planned … like Shakuni.

Pause. WOMAN:

Shakuni was killed.

Pause. WOMAN:

So were a whole lot of innocent people.

MAN:

In Shakuni’s world nobody is innocent.

WOMAN:

We are all equally responsible?

MAN:

Yes.

WOMAN:

We are responsible for each other’s crimes?

MAN:

What I’m doing is not a crime.

WOMAN:

Neither was Shoorpanakha a criminal. But they hacked off her breasts.

MAN: 429

For heaven’s sake, is this the time to talk of a woman’s breasts? WOMAN:

I’ll take the briefcase.

MAN:

What?

WOMAN:

I’ll take the briefcase through. That’s all you want, isn’t it?

MAN:

What the hell are you playing at?

WOMAN:

Leave. Go home. Or wherever.

MAN:

They’ll catch you, you bloody idiot. They’ll …

WOMAN:

I’ll take the risk.

She puts on her glasses and picks up her handbag. Another more urgent announcement for the security check. The WOMAN collects her luggage, moves to the briefcase, picks it up and turns to exit. The MAN jumps up and confronts her. MAN:

Why are you doing this?

WOMAN:

Just go.

MAN:

No.

The WOMAN holds the briefcase casually but the MAN is not able to wrest it from her, not even budge it, however much he tries.

430

MAN:

(Gasping.) Please. Let it go.

WOMAN:

No.

The MAN makes another attempt to get back the briefcase but is unsuccessful. It dawns on him that he is pitting himself against an unfamiliar power. Silence. The MAN gives up the struggle. MAN:

(Abruptly.) Alright, you win. Let go that darned briefcase.

The WOMAN looks at him. MAN:

Leave it, you stupid woman. (He takes the dice from his pocket and flings them away.) Leave that bloody briefcase there.

The WOMAN tears the tag off the briefcase and puts the case down near the chair. WOMAN:

Alright. Let’s take that flight. Come on.

The MAN continues to stand still. The WOMAN comes up to him, takes him by the hand and leads him to the exit. Lights dim.

431

The MAN and the WOMAN return to their make-up areas, put away their hand props, smile at each other and come centre stage for the … Curtain Call.

432

Samara’s Song 2007 Samara’s Song is explicitly political. Over the years, I became increasingly concerned with issues of politics and good governance. The concept, in democracy, that any citizen can aspire to political leadership, is fascinating. And yet, is this really possible? Do democracies, especially fledgling nations, actually uphold democratic principles? Or is equality only a slogan, a remote ideal? Was Plato right when he said, ‘democracy passes into despotism’? The play went through several revisions before I was satisfied with this, the final version. The narrative is multi-layered in the construct of democracy — the populace, the bureaucracy and the political leadership; in the setting and stage design — a street, a government office, a leader’s palatial residence; in the manipulation of language in the script — reflecting plebian coarseness, bureaucratic snobbery and political stratagem; in the leitmotif of the chronicling of history — the past, the present and the future. While the play explores the politics of governance in a democracy, it also reflects the politics inherent in all human relationships. The ultimate tragedy is of those who cannot articulate, those who remain exploited.

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The names of the characters are place names, as in ‘Samara’ which is the Sanskrit word for war and disquiet and also the name of a town in war-torn Iraq. In most of my plays I have not given names to the characters which would identify them with a region or a community. In this play, I searched for names that had interesting sounds. The play uses a modified version of the Greek chorus and the Indian sutradhar. The three historians are not merely observers of the dramatic narrative but are also impaired, and therefore prejudiced, in their recording of it — one blind, one deaf and the third mute. As with my other plays, in Samara’s Song too, I visualised the play and ‘heard it’ as I wrote. A dramatist needs to be aware that the written word is not sufficient and that the work has to incorporate the visual and audile requirements of the stage. A play that reads well need not make for good theatre. I was fortunate in that I was an actor before I turned to playwriting. Noam Chomsky says, in Manufacturing Consent, ‘In this possibly terminal phase of human existence, democracy and freedom are more than just values to be treasured — they may be essential to survival.’ It is only as a citizen in a true democracy that I could have written this play. Cast

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In order of appearance ARRAH

: a middle-aged woman

MATI

: a middle-aged woman

SAMARA

: a mute woman

twenty-year-old

: of indeterminate age

GANDAVA

: a man of about thirty

HAMUN KRABI

: a middle-aged man

URI

: a middle-aged man

PRINCE DEYETH

: a young man of eighteen

PRINCESS SABAH

a woman of about thirty

THANDWAI

: not seen but is heard as a harsh, female voice

435

Crowd

: men and women of varying ages.

The stage is divided into three acting areas which could be placed either vertically or across, as the director wishes. The three areas are the STREET, the CHAMBER and the PALACE. The STREET is bare. The CHAMBER is sparsely furnished with two chairs and a heavy, ugly desk. The PALACE holds a couch, a desk and a chair, all richly upholstered, and has dark curtains hanging upstage left, indicating the entrance to an inner room. Lights on STREET. Enter ARRAH, a big made woman in her forties, carrying a waterpot on each hip. She is clearly a part of the urban underprivileged but with a fierce survival instinct. She carries herself with superb confidence, can be abrasive but is often tender. ARRAH:

(Enters downstage left and runs across the stage.) Samara! Samara! Water! At last water! Samara! Come quick. All the pots bring.

ARRAH positions the pots downstage right as if at a water tap as another middle aged woman, MATI, also carrying pots, rushes in stage right and pushes forward ahead of her.

436

ARRAH:

Ay! Ay! You mother of shaitan! You begetter of lepers! (Pushes the woman away viciously.) Front of me you are coming? What you are thinking? Go! Your filthy pots take and go!

MATI:

Ay! Names like that don’t say. I also am coming for water. It is not only your gift from heaven.

ARRAH:

(Rearranging her pots.) From heaven? This water is coming from heaven you think? (Laughs derisively.) This water gorment is giving. That is why it is coming in small small miser drops. When heaven gives, it is coming big, with so much force, like king’s pee. (Laughs.)

Pause. ARRAH:

Sit, woman. Long time this will take. (Turns and calls.) Samara! Samara! Come quick no. Water will go.

The two women sit together in a climate of temporary truce and share betel leaves. Silence. MATI:

Your Samara still like that?

437

ARRAH does not speak, she continues to chew betel. MATI:

So many doctors you have seen. So many priests you have asked…! So much you are doing for her … and she is not even your blood.

ARRAH:

(Calls.) Samara!

MATI:

You are spending so much. Doing so much, why? Yesterday only I was saying..

ARRAH:

(Turns and spits.) What you are saying? What you are saying? You have a mouth full of dung … (Stands.) Stitch your mouth, Mati, I am telling you … otherwise this Arrah will …

Enter SAMARA stage right, a delicate girl of about twenty, with wild open hair, dragging a large tin vessel behind her. ARRAH:

Samara! This you got why? So heavy it is.

ARRAH goes up to SAMARA and takes the vessel from her. Her actions are gentle. SAMARA continues to stand where she is, uncertainly. ARRAH:

You sit now.

438

ARRAH drags the vessel to the tap and peers into the pot already there. ARRAH:

This another fifty years will take. (Turns to MATI.) You! You want to fill? Come then.

As MATI goes up to the tap looking slyly at SAMARA all the while, ARRAH gently leads the girl upstage, seats her and begins to comb and braid her hair. MATI rearranges her vessels to catch the water. ARRAH:

Why you did not comb? Only Arrah must do it?

SAMARA giggles and hides her faces in ARRAH ‘s clothes. ARRAH:

(Laughing.) Samara! You are two years child or what. Come, sit straight. Yes. That way.

ARRAH combs SAMARA’s hair, MATI stands at the water tap, still looking slyly at them. Pause. ARRAH:

Why you don’t sing Samara? Sing no.

SAMARA shakes her head.

439

ARRAH:

See today is good day. Water has come. After three days, water has come. Sing. Because we have water, sing.

Pause. ARRAH:

(Whispers.) For me sing. For me.

Pause. SAMARA begins to sing. She sings a song without words, high wailing notes that speak of dry desert winds, of famine and thirst, of despair in the human heart. And then the notes soften and the song is now a lullaby, tender, hushed, welling with a mother’s love and hope. As SAMARA moves to the last part of the song, three men, of indeterminate age and dressed in travel-stained clothes, enter upstage left. One is blind, another is mute and the third is deaf. At first, only the blind man is clearly so, since the other two lead him in. But as the scene progresses the others’ disabilities are made evident. The three men are not visible to anyone else on stage. BLIND MAN:

So what time is it? (Louder.) What time? What day? What year?

MUTE MAN gestures while the DEAF MAN looks at each woman with lecherous intent. BLIND (Shouting.) What century is this?. Can MAN: anyone tell me? Any of you who has laid 440

between a woman’s legs … can anyone of you tell me … (Drops voice.) What is the use? This one can’t hear. The other fool can’t speak. DEAF MAN lets go of the blind man and begins to move towards SAMARA. MUTE MAN sees this, lets go too and drags the DEAF MAN away, gesticulating violently. BLIND Let me see now… It is not the year when MAN: Danae that whore opened herself to … no, no. This is … Hey! Is democracy born yet? That other whore who simpers on the streets and dances naked in palaces? Democracy! How she can fool them all (Takes a step, stumbles.) Hey! Where are you … you blather mongers? How dare you leave me in the middle of I don’t know what … MUTE MAN rushes up to BLIND MAN, furiously links his hand with that of the DEAF MAN. and taps on the BLIND MAN’s chest. DEAF MAN watches and laughs uproariously. BLIND New what? New millennium? What puerile MAN: rubbish! What’s new about it? I have seen hundreds of millenniums, don’t you know? Millions! Zillions! Quintillions! And you go and spell it with a capital M … you mustard seed brain … (Rubs his chest as if rubbing

441

off the word.) What kind of clotted assistant are you? You can’t even articulate … (Turns to DEAF MAN who is still laughing.) Now here … here is someone intelligent, he agrees with me … (Pats DEAF MAN on the arm.) Good man … you are not dead with your tongue, like this idiot is … DEAF MAN continues laughing and points at SAMARA. MUTE MAN moves away, disgusted. DEAF (In a high, unnatural voice.) Ripe and fair. MAN: Ripe and fair. I will have her before night is done. I will. I will. I will. (Dances around ARRAH and SAMARA, shrieking.) BLIND (Alarmed.) Her? No! No! You can’t do that. MAN: It’s against the rules …. Stop him. (Shouts.) Stop him. MUTE MAN refuses to move. DEAF MAN continues to dance like a maniac, shrieking. BLIND MAN takes a couple of steps towards him, holding his hands out. BLIND (In despair.) Stop. No involvement. It’s a MAN: cardinal sin to get involved. Stop … Can’t you hear? (Drops his voice.) Of course, he can’t, the idiot. (Turns around.) Stop him, I say … stop … (Suddenly he falls silent and listens intently.)

442

MUTE MAN watches him for a moment, and then in a single swift movement, runs up, links hands with the two men and takes them upstage and off. A cacophony of sound can now he heard, gradually getting louder. ARRAH, SAMARA and MATI stand facing downstage, staring up as if looking at a huge portable screen moving slowly from stage right to left. Other men and women enter from different parts of the stage and stare too. The light of the screen flickers on them. Sad, elegiac music is heard, and accompanying it, a harsh female voice. As the accompanying voice-over gets near enough to be distinguished, SAMARA moves behind ARRAH in a quick, frightened movement. HARSH Beloved people of Eos. Six months ago FEMALE this day, your great leader and father and VOICE: my dearly loved husband was removed from us, in the height of his vitality and health. His life was snuffed out just as he had begun a series of programmes for his people. Programmes that would place Eos on the map of the world, programmes that would make this proud nation the strongest, the most progressive, the most advanced of all developing countries in the New Millennium. People of Eos, I still grieve for him. The pictures you see on the screen are of happier days when your respected leader, my children’s parent, my beloved husband was still alive. But

443

my heart now lies broken and I dare not appear before you till I have overcome my deep sorrow …. Time is a great healer, they say, so let time be my partner in grief till I can once more be amongst you. But always remember him, my people, remember him who sought to wipe the tear from every eye, him for whom no sacrifice was too big when it was for you …. Remember him, people of Eos, remember him, pray for him, for the easy resting of his soul. (Elegiac music.) Beloved people of Eos. Six months ago this day. (Fades off gradually.) The CROWD sits down. ARRAH continues to comb and braid SAMARA’s hair and MATI continues to stand at the water tap. A WOMAN:

So that is why water came. So we can wash our face and then cry.

SECOND WOMAN:

Widow is widow. Like us. What she can do?

FIRST WOMAN:

Ohohoho! She is like us you are saying? That woman has whole country in her fist. She is not letting Prince Ashti to come back home. Even his father’s dead face he did not see.

A MAN:

She is second wife, no? That is why.

444

THIRD WOMAN:

Ay! You bedwetter! You drunk! What you are giving me to look after all your children? That she-devil’s children also …

MAN:

You shut your mouth. You want me to cut your tongue?

THIRD WOMAN:

Cut! Cut! Let me see.

FIRST WOMAN:

In our country, only Thandwai can cut tongue.

The others in the crowd try to shush her glancing at ARRAH and SAMARA. FIRST WOMAN:

Why I must keep silent? She knows … she …

MAN:

Ay! Commisiner coming.

The crowd exits quickly stage right. GANDAVA, HAMUN and URI enter stage left. GANDAVA is about thirty, a ruffian, quick to seize an opportunity, resentful that he has not had opportunity enough to seize. He is dressed in rather shabby clothes but has a flashy finger ring and wears a brightly coloured scarf across his shoulders. URI and HAMUN are older, clearly of the elite class, dressed quietly, in well-cut business suits They are self-assured men although URI looks as if he knows these rough streets better than HAMUN. As they enter, SAMARA tears herself away and exits stage right. ARRAH moves downstage to the water 445

tap and sits there while MATI stands near her. GANDAVA is stage left of the men, standing behind them, like a supplicant. HAMUN:

Well Uri, old chap what do you say? Going rather well, eh?

URI:

Hm. I’m not sure. A little more mush would have helped, I thought … I, a poor widow, left alone to bring up my fatherless daughter estranged from my husband’s son … my womb still bleeds … that kind of stuff. Works well with the masses.

HAMUN:

I wrote something on those lines but she vetoed it. No sentimentality this time, she says.

URI:

But the masses are getting sentimental, you know. They want Ashti back.

HAMUN:

I know. He is the only chap who can get us out of this mess.

URI:

Is he?

HAMUN:

Uri, old man. We have no credibility any more. No investor will touch us with a barge pole. We have to get Ashti back.

URI:

And that hell cat step sister of his? What will you do with her?

HAMUN:

I’m trying to get rid of her. (Laughs.) Don’t look so shocked, old friend. The

446

Thandwai wants her out of her hair as well, I assure you. (Confidentially.) The hell cat would consume her mother if she could. The other day, when I looked at her birth chart, I found … (Looks around, clears his throat.) So what is it you were saying … about … URI:

Uh? Ah yes. (Looking around.) You said you wanted someone quick on the uptake … someone who can … well … you know …

HAMUN:

Yes. Is that the fellow? He looks hungry.

URI:

Got him out of a jail sentence once. You can trust him.

HAMUN:

Not commie and tiresome, I hope.

URI:

Oh no, not at all. Wants all the goodies alright. Shall I?

HAMUN:

One moment, old chap. Have to consult my almanac first. (Takes out a well-thumbed pocket book and flips through the pages.) Let me see …

URI:

Hamun … not for engaging a factotum … you don’t need your almanac for that. Come on.

HAMUN consults his book, mumbling to himself and counting on his fingers.

447

URI:

Hamun … you are just getting yourself an office boy … an insignificant servant.

HAMUN:

(Puts away his book.) Uri, old man, when you get to where I am, you will realise that nothing in our lives is insignificant … nothing … and nobody.

URI:

Well, shall I call him or not? Or would you rather another day when those totally indifferent stars, millions of light years away, are more propitious?

HAMUN:

The time is neither good nor bad. It will do.

URI gestures to GANDAVA. The two older men assume an official, pompous air as GANDAVA comes up to them. URI:

Gandava, you have stayed away from those rowdies like I asked you?

GANDAVA nods, his head low. URI:

Good. Wokha’s men are bad men and we have our eyes on them. The special police …. Do you know what that means?

GANDAVA nods his head sideways, then up and down. URI:

It means they will hang. Each mother’s son will hang. Do you want that? 448

GANDAVA is still. URI:

Tell me, you dog! Do you want that to happen to you?

GANDAVA goes down on his knees. GANDAVA:

Commisiner saar. Commisiner saar. Nobody of them I know. Wokha? Who he is?

URI:

Good man. Stand. (GANDAVA stands up but remains supplicant.) You remember I told you of a big officer who wants an office boy? You remember or not?

GANDAVA:

How this poor man, this sinner can forget what Commisiner says …

URI:

This is the officer. He wants to inspect you. Stand straight.

GANDAVA stands straight with his head erect. URl slaps his head down. URI:

(Growls.) Don’t forget yourself.

Silence. HAMUN examines GANDAVA from a distance as if he smells. HAMUN:

Name?

GANDAVA:

Gandava, saar.

449

HAMUN:

Of?

GANDAVA is silent. HAMUN:

Of which town, which village, what parentage?

GANDAVA scratches his head. HAMUN:

Of neither man nor woman born, not of the earth nor of the waters, eh?

Pause. GANDAVA finally nods. HAMUN:

A man of no address. Good. Very good. You agree, old chap?

URI laughs. HAMUN:

(Laughing.) Come to the Palace tomorrow. At ten. Ten on the dot.

GANDAVA:

(Astounded.) Palace, saar?

URI:

To the side gate, dog. Ask for me. And don’t go running to Wokha to give him the news.

GANDAVA:

Saar. So good you are to poor orphan … a poor sinner … you are my father and mother … you are …

URI and HAMUN pay no attention to him but exit offstage right deep in conversation. GANDAVA

450

follows them some paces behind, making sure they have left. Then he leaps into the air. GANDAVA:

Yaah! Yaah! You listened? Arrah, you listened?

ARRAH:

Listened.

GANDAVA:

Everything you listened?

ARRAH:

Mm …

GANDAVA:

Palace, Arrah! To palace I am going. You listened, no?

ARRAH:

Mm …

GANDAVA:

(Flings himself down close to ARRAH.) Palace! How it will be? Where Samara is? She will tell how it is.

ARRAH:

(Sadly.) What Samara can say?

Pause. GANDAVA:

You wait, Arrah. In palace, I will make money and one day I will to Samara come and say …

MATI:

(Harshly.) What you will say? You will say to Samara what?

GANDAVA:

Oh. You! You I did not see.

MATI:

(Screaming.) You I did not see. You I did not see. When you saw me?

451

GANDAVA:

Shut your mouth, woman.

MATI:

Why I should? You want only mouthless woman? Tongueless woman? Like that Samara?

ARRAH:

Ay!

MATI:

You shut your mouth. Shut your mouth. (Sobbing.) He was good man before you put eyes on him. Rations he got for me every month, coffee powder, betel leaves, jasmine flowers … and then … and then you put black magic on him, you and that tongueless witch and …

GANDAVA whirls himself up and strides towards MATI with his hand raised. GANDAVA:

Shut your mouth. Or you want me to shut your mouth?

MATI looks at him, terrified, then grabs her water pots and exits running offstage right, still sobbing. ARRAH calmly rearranges the water pots. ARRAH:

Even if somebody dies, water we want, no?

ARRAH settles herself centre stage and GANDAVA flings himself down beside her. A long silence.

452

GANDAVA:

What you think, Arrah? What happened just now is for my good, no?

ARRAH:

(Teasing.) That Mati? Not good for you, that woman …

GANDAVA:

Tell no, Arrah. Tell.

ARRAH:

(Tenderly.) Just now you shouted like little boy. Now what happened?

Silence. GANDAVA:

My mind not feeling alright … Why I do not know. First it was for Samara I was happy … I will make her wife … I will for her bring clothes, anklets, gold eardrops … all for Samara. I will make her queen, my Samara …. But now …

Pause. ARRAH:

Now?

GANDAVA:

Now … (Stands up abruptly.) I will say no. I will go to Commisiner and say … to village I have to go … urgent … mother sick.

ARRAH:

What village? What mother? Just now what you told your Commisiner saar?

453

Pause. GANDAVA:

Then … then I will say … I will say … TB … yes … TB I have … TB, see. (Coughs horribly.)

URI:

(Off.) Don’t worry. We’ll find him. He must be there still.

URI and HAMUN rush in from stage right. HAMUN is speaking on a mobile phone, softly, urgently. ARRAH stands up and quickly moves upstage so as not to be seen. URI:

Here he is …. Stop making that foul noise, man. Get some water to drink and get to the palace …

GANDAVA:

Now? But you …

URI:

Now, dog … right now. Come on. Follow us. Come on …

HAMUN and URI exit stage left. GANDAVA stands uncertainly for a moment, turns to look at ARRAH, then moves slowly offstage, following the two men. ARRAH stands looking in his direction. SAMARA’S song is heard faintly as the light fades. Lights on PALACE. PRINCE DEYETH is lying on the couch, reading. He is about eighteen and has the pale, languid look of an invalid but with the bright eyes of extraordinary intelligence. He is in a dressing gown, 454

has a walking stick by his side and is listening to music over a pair of headphones. A moment later, PRINCESS SABAH enters. She is about thirty, is wearing designer styled western clothes. She has the arrogance of a person who combines low self esteem with overriding feelings of entitlement. PRINCESS:

Where is she?

DEYETH has not heard her entering. She strides up to him and snatches the headphones off. PRINCESS:

You …. Where is she?

DEYETH:

Ouch. (Rubs his ears.) Scorn not a raging woman …

PRINCESS:

Is she in there?

DEYETH:

That, my dear sister, is a rhetorical question …. May I have my music back?

PRINCESS SABAH flings the headphones down at him, turns towards the inner room, then changes her mind and paces up and down. DEYETH puts back his headphones and is lost to the world again. PRINCESS:

I wish … I wish you would just for once … just bloody once in your spoilt life … listen …

455

DEYETH:

Can’t hear you. Can only see your mouth going parp parp parp parp like that.

PRINCESS:

Oh god! … Grow up, won’t you?

DEYETH:

What?

PRINCESS:

(Shouts.) Grow bloody UP! (Normal voice.) Oh what’s the use? He’s behaving like he’s retarded.

DEYETH sits up and takes off his headphones. DEYETH:

Listen sister, the deaf are not retarded, okay? They are just … deaf. They have smoke in their ears …

PRINCESS:

(Deliberately.) Please, Deyeth, tell me. Do you know what she is up to? Has she said anything to you?

DEYETH:

Oh yes, she did. This morning.

PRINCESS:

Well?

DEYETH:

Quite well, thank you.

PRINCESS:

Deyeth! What did she say to you?

DEYETH:

She said, ‘Have you had your medicines, dear?’

PRINCESS:

(Disgusted.) One personally kill you.

456

day

I

will

DEYETH puts back his headphones. DEYETH:

I would rather, if you don’t mind … be impersonally killed. Like in war. Do you know how many people died in Hiroshima?

PRINCESS:

No, and I don’t want to.

DEYETH:

More than 200,000 people. Half of them outright, the other half of burns. Do you know …

HAMUN and URI enter quickly from stage left but contain themselves as people do before royalty. HAMUN:

Princess! Prince!

PRINCESS:

(Very stiff.) Yes?

HAMUN:

We have news important news …

PRINCESS:

Well?

HAMUN:

(Hesitates.) For the Thandwai.

…

extremely

DEYETH takes his headphones off and sits up. PRINCESS:

What is the news?

Silence. PRINCESS:

I demand you tell me.

457

DEYETH takes his walking stick and limps into the inner room. PRINCESS:

How dare you not tell me? I can have you fired, do you know that? You may be … whatever whatever you are in the bloody government … but don’t you forget who I am …. Don’t dare forget who … who my father was …

There is a slight twitch at the curtains and the impression of a figure standing behind DEYETH re-enters, limping. The THANDWAI remains offstage and speaks from behind the curtains. It is the same harsh voice heard earlier, accompanying the portable screen. THANDWAI:

Sabah! You forget yourself.

HAMUN and URI stand to attention on hearing her voice. THANDWAI:

What is it, Hamun?

HAMUN:

We have news, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

Well?

HAMUN:

(Hesitates.) It is … not good news, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

That is for me to decide.

458

HAMUN:

Certainly. (Looks around continues to hesitate.)

THANDWAI:

Sabah, please leave … Deyeth.

and

DEYETH begins to limp off stage right almost immediately. PRINCESS SABAH is defiant and takes her time. HAMUN is silent till she exits stage right. THANDWAI:

Don’t ever keep a thirty-year-old daughter at home and unmarried, Hamun.

HAMUN:

I will remember, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

(Laughs.) Now, what is this news that you have?

HAMUN:

We have reliable reports that …

THANDWAI:

Yes?

HAMUN:

… that Prince Ashti is on his way home.

Silence. THANDWAI:

Home?

Pause. HAMUN:

I am sorry.

Pause.

459

THANDWAI:

Hm. So what arrangements have you made?

HAMUN:

I beg pardon, Thandwai. I do not understand.

THANDWAI:

My husband’s fIrst born is returning …. What arrangements have you made?

Silence. THANDWAI:

He is to be welcomed with full ceremony. I myself am still in mourning but Princess Sabah and Prince Deyeth and the core Council of Ministers shall receive him at the airport and escort him to the palace. He shall visit his father’s memorial. You will ensure that the streets are lined with people. Notify the press and television immediately. I want full coverage. International coverage. Is that understood?

HAMUN:

Yes, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

Remember, we are in mourning. The ceremonies must be touching and dignified rather than lavish. No banquets please …. When is he expected?

HAMUN turns to URI.

460

URI:

Tomorrow, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

When?

URI:

Fourteen hundred hours.

THANDWAI:

That’s not accurate.

URI consults a sheet of paper. URI:

Thandwai is right. Fourteen hours ten minutes is the scheduled arrival time.

THANDWAI:

Inaccuracy could be the death of you, Commissioner. Now go, both of you, and get to work.

URI:

I beg the forgiveness of Thandwai.

HAMUN:

Permission to leave Thandwai.

HAMUN and URI bow, click their heels and prepare to leave. THANDWAI:

Oh, Hamun.

HAMUN:

Thandwai?

THANDWAI:

You are right. It is a homecoming. (Laughs.)

HAMUN bows and exits rapidly stage left with URI. Almost immediately, PRINCESS SABAH enters from stage right.

461

THANDWAI:

Sabah. You are still listening at doors, are you? Like you did when you were six and a sneak?

PRINCESS:

(Full of glee.) What are you going to do, Mummy dear? What are you going to do? Now that your great and beloved stepson is coming back. To take over the throne.

THANDWAI:

(Sharply.) Sabah, I will not have you talking like that. Ours is a democratically elected government. Your father held elections regularly every seven years.

PRINCESS:

Elections? (Laughs.) Elections, you call them? What a joke!

Pause. THANDWAI:

Sabah. What do you want now? A ministry? What?

Silence. PRINCESS:

(Softly.) I know what you did to Daddy. I saw you.

Silence. PRINCESS:

You should try listening at doors and peeping through windows, you know …. You can learn a lot that way …. 462

But then, who am I to teach you. You are an expert at it, aren’t you? Silence. PRINCESS:

I’ve been so clever. Keeping it all to myself till now. (Laughs.)

Silence. PRINCE DEYETH enters, unnoticed. PRINCESS:

Well Mummy. What are you going to do to me now? You can’t cut my tongue out, can you? Like you did to that little servant girl?

PRINCE DEYETH stands still for a moment, then exits. PRINCESS SABAH hums a fast-paced rendering of SAMARA’s song. THANDWAI:

Stop it. Stop it Sabah.

Pause. THANDWAI:

I was giving medicine.

your

father

PRINCESS SABAH continues to hum the song. THANDWAI:

Will you come inside?

463

his

PRINCESS:

And see at last a face lift gone wrong?

THANDWAI:

It is not so horrific now … I … I haven’t let you see me all this time only because … because I was trying to spare you that sight.

PRINCESS:

But it was alright for Deyeth, is it?

THANDWAI:

Oh you know him! He doesn’t notice a thing other than his books and his music … But now I need you.

PRINCESS:

Hah! After six months. You have asked me into your room after six months. You are allowing me to see you now. Why?

THANDWAI:

You were always a difficult child, Sabah. But now I ask you to help me, not as a mother. But …

PRINCESS:

But …

THANDWAI:

… as a woman. A friend …

Pause. PRINCESS:

Ashti will be here tomorrow.

THANDWAI:

Yes.

PRINCESS:

Father always loved him more than me.

THANDWAI:

Right till the end. 464

PRINCESS:

Gave him more presents. Wanted him close all the time. (Hysterical.) Wanted him to be …

THANDWAI:

I did not let that happen.

Pause. PRINCESS:

You sent him away. Why is he coming back?

THANDWAI:

Come in and I will tell you.

PRINCESS SABAH hesitates a moment and then exits into the inner room. The BLIND, DEAF and MUTE MEN enter from upstage left. All three carry heavy ledgers. BLIND (Sitting.) Why do I have to carry something MAN: I can’t read? (Flings the ledgers down.) Here, take them. (Lies down.) I need some rest after carrying all those bloody books. The MUTE MAN sits beside him and arranges the ledgers one on top of the other. DEAF Look! Look! A stairway to heaven. One MAN: step, two steps, three, four … (Laughs.) He upsets the books. The MUTE MAN glares at him and rearranges them.

465

DEAF MAN:

(Dancing around.) Three historians are we One is blind … see He doesn’t have to close his eyes when he sleeps … The other is dumb, Who can say whether he laughs or he weeps But they write uproariously.)

history

(Laughs

History! But … I can see I can speak With me, time is afraid … Time leaps Time creeps Time heaps moment upon moment upon moment upon moment upon … BLIND MAN:

(Shouts.) Shut up, you.

466

DEAF MAN:

… moment upon moment up …

moment

upon

BLIND MAN:

(Sitting up.) Can’t anyone stop the fool?

DEAF MAN:

… on moment upon moment upon mom …

The MUTE MAN jumps up and tries to stop the DEAF MAN from speaking. The DEAF MAN resists and they wrestle together. BLIND MAN:

Quiet. Listen.

The MUTE MAN has got the other in his grip now. SAMARA’s song is heard plaintive, far away. Lights on CHAMBER. HAMUN and URl enter stage right followed by GANDAVA. HAMUN goes up to the desk and opens its locked drawer. URI:

Are you sure it will work?

HAMUN:

It will have to. Can he read?

URI:

You, Gandava. Can you read?

GANDAVA:

Till fifth I have gone to school, Commisiner … then …

HAMUN:

He will have to stop Kurubiri. Can he do that?

467

speaking

URI:

Of course he can. He better when I order him to.

HAMUN:

(With a half laugh.) Right, old chap. Then will you first teach him to say Commissioner correctly? I’ll be with you in a minute.

URI and GANDAVA withdraw to stage left with URl obviously trying to correct GANDAVA’s diction. HAMUN takes out a roll of what looks like parchment sheets tied together, unties it and studies the sheets closely. BLIND MAN:

Is anybody writing all this down? Or am I expected to do that as well?

The MUTE MAN takes his hand off the DEAF MAN’s mouth. Immediately, the DEAF MAN starts off with his ‘moment upon moment’ litany till his mouth is clapped shut again. BLIND MAN:

Can’t you gag the idiot?

The MUTE MAN hunts for a piece of cloth with his free hand, finds it, secures the DEAF MAN’s mouth and then ties his hands behind his back for good measure. Over the next few minutes, the MUTE MAN taps the BLIND MAN’s chest, then searches for the right ledger, the last one, then looks for a writing implement, can’t find it and ultimately settles for writing with his finger, dipping it into an ancient ink bottle every now and then, and sometimes

468

absentmindedly moistening it on his tongue. The DEAF MAN alternates between struggling violently and resting. BLIND MAN:

I suppose I have to leave you to it though your spellings are atrocious. Do you realise there’s a conspiracy brewing? (Laughs.) That’s nothing new, is it?

HAMUN:

(Mutters.) Hm … I think we can manage it …. She has a very inauspicious chart though. An angry temperament …. Grave danger to mother. I’ll just have to add the marriage chances. (Looks up.) Uri, where should he be from? The north?

URI:

(Considers.) Ye…es. I think … Yes, that would be best. You remember there was some kind of calamity there some twenty or so years ago …? Yes. Floods. Lots of deaths … houses washed away … crops gone … children lost … he could be one of those children …

HAMUN:

Of course that’s it! Uri, Uri my dear man … you are a genius! Yes, he came wandering here when he was about six or seven … totally traumatised … couldn’t recall parents’ names … had no papers …. Of course that’s it … (Writes excitedly.)

469

BLIND MAN:

You think conspiracies are all political, don’t you? You are an idiot, if that’s what you think. Let me tell you the deepest conspiracies start in the family. Father against son, brother against brother … wife against husband …

HAMUN:

Hey Uri … does he have any distinguishing marks on his body? A mole … a tattoo or some such thing?

URI pauses, then walks up to HAMUN and whispers something in his ear. The MUTE MAN comes closer to listen, then turns away disgusted. HAMUN:

(Laughing.) I didn’t know you had experimented so much … A birth mark, you say? On the left buttock. A large one?

URI:

Really large. That’s how I remember it.

HAMUN:

Good … good … good. I can always say it’s the mark of royalty.

URI:

Is it? The mark of royalty?

HAMUN:

Who’s to know? And who’s to contradict it?

URI:

Not his panting bride, definitely.

Both laugh. URI taker a newspaper from HAMUN’s desk and hands it to GANDAVA, indicating that he read it.

470

URI:

Read! Can you?

HAMUN:

(Tying up the parchment sheets together.) So when shall I break the big news? When will your pupil be ready?

Pause. URI walks back to HAMUN. URI:

I was thinking … why not tell her right away? We have everything ready, don’t we? … The lady’s recast birth chart … a pliant astrologer … everything.

HAMUN:

Everything except him.

URI:

He doesn’t need a birth chart. He has a royal birth mark. And in any case, his recorded life history started today, with us …

BLIND MAN:

(Chuckling.) That’s exactly what every civilisation says.

HAMUN:

That’s true. We discovered him.

BLIND MAN:

That’s what every historian says.

URI:

(Desperately.) Look! We don’t have any time. Ashti is here tomorrow. We have to get her out of here somehow … somewhere …

HAMUN:

To the north?

471

URI:

Why not? She can have a merry time there trying to trace her husband’s line.

HAMUN:

Her husband’s what …? From what I know of her she is interested in only one thing.

URI:

He has it.

HAMUN:

You think so?

URI:

Believe me.

HAMUN:

He smells!

URI:

Just needs a bath.

HAMUN:

He’s uncouth.

URI:

A quick learner.

HAMUN:

He’s rough.

URI:

A set of silk clothes.

HAMUN looks at GANDAVA long and hard. HAMUN:

Alright. Let’s go.

URI:

Believe me, he’s a fine specimen. And we could be changing history, you know.

HAMUN exits stage left. URI speaks to GANDAVA for a moment indicating that he should go to the palace in a little while. URI exits stage left.

472

BLIND Funny how they all philosophise when they MAN: are about to do something crooked. Changing history! (Snorts.) The DEAF MAN frees himself abruptly. DEAF MAN:

Moment upon moment upon mom …

BLIND MAN:

(Roars.) SHUT UP!

DEAF MAN:

(Dancing.) Moment upon moment upon moment up …

He stops when he sees ARRAH entering stage right with SAMARA. ARRAH:

Gandava. Looking for you I was.Where you went? Big news you heard?

ARRAH sits down with GANDAVA while SAMARA snuggles up to her, on the side away from GANDAVA. ARRAH opens her betel leaf sachet. The DEAF MAN dances around SAMARA. DEAF MAN:

Ripe as a mango Ripe as an avocado Sweet and sour Pulp and power …

BLIND MAN:

(Roars.) STOP HIM.

473

The MUTE MAN, who has been writing, drops his ledger, runs up to the DEAF MAN, gags him again and puts him into the BLIND MAN’s hold. BLIND (Shouting.) Am I my brother’s keeper? Why MAN: can’t you hold him? Oh, the same old itch is it of yours? I am telling you, these are not historically important people … their words and actions don’t have to be recorded. COME ON. LET’S GO. The MUTE MAN hesitates then gathers up the ledgers and exits upstage with the other two men. MATI enters stage right quietly, without being noticed. ARRAH:

So good times are coming. Big work you are getting in palace … marrying Samara you are. Queen you are making her …

MATI:

Getting work in palace … Ohho, I will keep quiet you think? I will also see. I will to everybody tell.

GANDAVA:

(Yells.) Tell what? With you I slept? Tell! Tell! With Arrah also I slept. So?

MATI:

You I will marry, you said. Money you took.

GANDAVA:

Money you want? How much? Whatever money I took I will return, alright? In two four days. Now GO.

474

GANDAVA raises his hand threateningly. MATI exits stage right, weeping. ARRAH:

Our Prince Ashti he is coming, our King! Samara, you are remembering him? But how you are remembering … baby you was, no? So good to see he is … so tall..

GANDAVA:

Arrah. My mind is not alright.

Pause. ARRAH:

Why, Gandava?

GANDAVA:

Somewhere they are taking me. Where, why I cannot understand.

Pause. GANDAVA:

Commisiner is saying. ‘No Kurubiri … leave off Kurubiri,’ he is saying.

ARRAH:

But Kurubiri our language, no? How he can say that?

Pause. ARRAH:

How your language he can take? It is not land or money.

Silence.

475

ARRAH:

(Getting up abruptly.) I am not liking this. Let us go off, Gandava. Palace work you just leave. Let us go off.

GANDAVA:

Where we can go?

ARRAH:

North we will go. To nobody we will tell. Come.

GANDAVA:

Commisiner will not be finding us, you think? In one hour he will find us. Snake eyes he has got.

Pause. GANDAVA:

Nothing I can do. What they say I will do. But I will keep eyes and ears full open. Don’t have worry for me, Arrah.

Pause. ARRAH:

Sure you are? Careful you will be? About what you say … what you eat?

GANDAVA:

Yes. Yes. I am Kurubiri. Money I will make and one day …

ARRAH:

(Relaxing.) To Samara you will come …

GANDAVA:

Silk clothes I will bring …

ARRAH:

Ear jewels and neck jewels …

GANDAVA:

White flowers and red flowers …

ARRAH:

Red flowers and yellow … 476

GANDAVA:

And pipers will play …

ARRAH:

In gold cart we will sit …

GANDAVA:

To temple we will go and priest he will say …

GANDAVA leans forward and gently touches SAMARA’S right ear. She shrinks away. ARRAH holds her close. ARRAH:

See Samara … your prince he is.

She draws SAMARA’S right hand towards GANDAVA who, with infinite tenderness, holds it in both his hands and touches his forehead to it. After a moment of stillness, they stand up with GANDAVA continuing to hold SAMARA’S hand in his and drawing her nearer him. Now SAMARA is in the middle and ARRAH and GANDAVA on either side of her. As they speak, they move towards stage left. MATI enters stage right and watches them as they leave. GANDAVA:

To temple we will go …

ARRAH:

In gold cart we will go …

GANDAVA:

And pipers will play song …

ARRAH:

Flower rain will fall …

GANDAVA:

White flowers and red flowers …

ARRAH:

Red flowers and yellow …

477

ARRAH, SAMARA and GANDAVA exit stage left. MATI stands looking at them leaving and exits stage right as the three men enter upstage with the BLIND MAN holding the DEAF MAN and the MUTE MAN carrying the ledgers. BLIND Is it finally free of the masses? I think so. I MAN: can’t hear or smell anything. Alright then, ungag the idiot and tell him to read out the nonsense you have written. The MUTE MAN sets down his ledgers, removes the gag and tells the DEAF MAN in sign language that he is to read out from the book. DEAF Moment upon moment upon … what? Is it MAN: time to read already? (Laughs.) I can read. You can read. Mother can read. He can’t read. He can never read. His eyes are empty … (Laughs.) BLIND Tell him to shut up and read. MAN: The MUTE MAN gestures furiously to the DEAF MAN who finally stops laughing and begins reading. DEAF (At high speed.) In the year something MAN: something there was a conspiracy between the administration and the police force to something something a pretender to which the then queen mother strenuously and

478

enthusiastically allowed her minions to something something … BLIND (Roars.) What nonsense is this! What utter MAN: drivel! The DEAF MAN carries on regardless. DEAF … the opposition was inert because since MAN: the suspicious death of the President, emergency had been clamped in the guise of mourning and so the masses never something something trade nevertheless carried on as before and though the international press smelt something fishy there was no anxiety among the stewards of the world that … BLIND STOP. Who are these so called stewards MAN: of the world? The MUTE MAN taps him on the chest. DEAF … something something so no observers MAN: were sent and … BLIND Rubbish! Nobody can steward the world MAN: except history. DEAF … sanctions were not imposed. So the MAN: masses were … (Looks puzzled.) So the masses were …

479

BLIND Tell him to stop. STOP. In my dictionary, MAN: sanction means permission. Do you understand? DEAF What happened to the masses? The ink MAN: ran out? (Strokes the MUTE MAN’s cheek.) Poor masses. The ink ran out. It has run out in many places, see …. The ink … the pink … the kink … kink … kink … The rink … the sink … the chink … chink … chink …. The link … the brink … the … the … BLIND Gag him …. At once. I can’t understand MAN: how a deaf man can use so much rhyme. It’s disgraceful. DEAF (Dancing.) … the fink … fink … fink … MAN: BLIND GAG HIM. MAN: The MUTE MAN trusses up the DEAF MAN and gags him. BLIND MAN:

Now. Do you have a pen that writes? Give it to me. Does it have ink?

The BLIND MAN sniffs at the pen he is given, makes a mark on his palm and sniffs that as well. BLIND I suppose it will have to do, though it has a MAN: very scratchy nib. Take the millennium ledger and get ready to write. Do you have

480

the right ledger? Say yes or no. YES or NO? The MUTE MAN pokes him with the pen. BLIND Ow! You don’t have to shout, you know, MAN: and show your temper. I’m only trying to help you. Pause. BLIND I don’t suppose there’s any use waiting for MAN: you to apologise. I’ve known you long enough to realise that …. (Listens intently.) Get ready. The BLIND MAN speaks and the DEAF MAN writes. All through this scene, the BLIND MAN’s words are heard only where indicated For the rest of the time, their action is mimed. Lights on PALACE. DEYETH is on his couch reading. HAMUN and URI enter stage left. HAMUN:

Good evening, Prince.

DEYETH:

Do you know when contact lenses were invented?

HAMUN:

No, Prince.

481

DEYETH:

In 1827 by the English astronomer Frederick William Herschel. His name sounds like chocolate, doesn’t it? Ah! Do you know how many blind kings there have been in history? … No? Well one of the Indian epics features a …

HAMUN:

Pardon me, Prince … but I have some urgent matter to discuss with …

DEYETH:

Do you think blindness is the worst handicap to have? Or is deafness worse? Or …

HAMUN:

Prince, I must beg you to please …

BLIND MAN:

(Dictating.) No historian can accurately predict how and when a particular set of events was set in motion but one can with some justification say that …

DEYETH:

They are friends now.

HAMUN:

Sorry Prince but …

DEYETH:

My mother and my sister are friends now. They had a girlie giggly chat together in there, all afternoon.

Some faint sound from the inner room. DEYETH:

Do you know what happened in 1195? The Byzantine Emperor was blinded by his own brother and

482

imprisoned in a dungeon. But later … THANDWAI:

(Off.) Deyeth.

DEYETH:

Yes, mother. I fly at your bidding. (Stands and begins to move stage right.) Good day, gentlemen. I do hope I have enlightened you with my little …

THANDWAI:

Deyeth!

DEYETH:

I fly mother … I flee. (Exits stage right.)

THANDWAI:

Well, Hamun?

HAMUN:

Thandwai is alone, I trust.

THANDWAI:

Yes. For the moment.

HAMUN:

I was entrusted with a commission by Thandwai some six months ago.

THANDWAI:

Well?

HAMUN:

I have located a suitable person.

THANDWAI:

I see. Is he trustworthy?

URI:

Completely trustworthy, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

Hamun? Did he not impress you?

HAMUN:

Of his trustworthiness, I have no doubt, Thandwai.

483

THANDWAI:

What is it then? Are all his limbs in order? You know she can’t abide … any physical shortcoming.

HAMUN:

There’s no such problem, Thandwai. He’s a fine specimen.

THANDWAI:

Of what?

URI:

Of maleness, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

And who better than you to judge, Commissioner? But he does not achieve Hamun’s high standards of grooming, I gather.

HAMUN:

Yes, Thandwai. Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

(Laughing.) When will you learn Hamun? She cares damn all for his cleanliness. She wants him with his clothes off.

HAMUN:

Yes, Thandwai.

URI:

(Suddenly.) He has birthmark on his …

THANDWAI:

Yes, Commissioner?

HAMUN:

He has a prominent birth mark on his posterior, Thandwai. I believe it is a sign of royal lineage.

I

The THANDWAI laughs uproariously.

484

mean,

a

no,

large

THANDWAI:

Of royal lineage, is it? Hamun, you are invaluable. Royal lineage! On his posterior! … (Laughs again.) Very well. Announce the engagement. The man will accompany the Prince and Princess to the airport tomorrow. I presume he has a name … we will have to change it …

HAMUN:

Yes Thandwai but … So quickly? I beg Thandwai’s pardon but …

URI:

I think Thandwai is right. It is best to …

THANDWAI:

Thank you Commissioner. Thank you both.

PRINCESS SABAH enters stage left, ignores the two men and walks towards the inner room. PRINCESS:

Mother, I did hope we would get a little time together. Alone.

THANDWAI:

My dear … Hamun has some marvellous news. Come in, let me tell you.

The PRINCESS walks haughtily into the inner room HAMUN and URI exit stage left. BLIND The historian, unable to verify certain past MAN: events, can only speculate on the intense

485

but uneven relationship between the First Lady and her daughter. It seems to have been a bond, made up as much of a feeling of betrayed love, as of blackmail. Certainly, it was a dangerous game of power being played, the consequences of which will, as always, tell on the country’s stability …. Have you got that? Read it back to me …. Oh of course. your idiot tongue doesn’t move. Alright, unclose his mouth then. As the MUTE MAN unties the DEAF MAN. SAMARA’s song is heard faintly and the lights fade. End of Act I. Act 2 A month later. Sets as before. Lights on CHAMBER. URI is reading the newspapers and HAMUN is at the desk moodily looking at a card spread. URI:

It’s been a month now and smooth going so far, thank goodness. She’s doing all the right things. Listen to this. (Reading.) ‘The Thandwai’s offer of friendship to her stepson when he returned home last month and her

486

announcement of elections have both been widely welcomed by the countries of the world where democracy is rightly the only way of governance. The international press has been closely following the fortunes of this erstwhile colony, and has been unanimous in its admiration of a woman who became a second wife and a hated first lady but now is a grieving widow and a staunch upholder of democratic principles. There is a keen air of anticipation in this small nation of etc. … etc. … etc. …’ They always blow up the population figures… HAMUN:

Have you read today’s gossip column? Here.

URI takes the paper from him. URI:

(Reads.) ‘Our little spy bird says the princess is already married. Her engagement to this dark, handsome stranger was announced only a month ago. Remember him? Every inch a royal. A splendid closed face that gives nothing away, an air of touch-me-not class. And boy, a body to drool over. Our little bird says the princess is madly in love. Who wouldn’t be? So why wait till the official period of mourning for her father is over? Our little bird swears there has already been a secret 487

ceremony in the palace, attended only by close family members. No wonder the lady looks so radiant. So when do we expect the fruits of devoted labour? Nine months from now or even earlier?’ We seem to have slipped up, Hanum. Thandwai will be furious. HANUM:

It was her idea.

URI:

What? To feed this rag? She has hated it ever since they talked about her face lift.

HANUM:

(Stands and walks about restlessly.) I am not easy in my mind, Uri. Things are not sitting right.

URI:

Is it Gandava you mean? Shall I speak to him?

HANUM:

Do you really think you have any control over His Royal Highness Prince Ruak? She has consumed him Uri, consumed him entirely. He’s her puppet now.

The BLIND, DEAF and MUTE MEN enter upstage. The DEAF MAN is gagged. He has obviously been made to carry some of the ledgers and to lead the BLIND MAN in, both of which he does will ill grace. The MUTE MAN carries what must be the latest ledger, since he is scribbling in it as he enters.

488

BLIND (Sitting.) Where was I? Ah yes … in the MAN: involved and complicated business of politics, it is difficult to say who the puppeteer is and who the puppet, particularly when one is often both. The historian’s task is merely to … The BLIND MAN is seen dictating to the MUTE MAN as the scene proceeds while the DEAF MAN looks bored, fidgets about, tries to undo his gag and finally makes a high pillow of the ledgers and lays his head down on it. HAMUN:

But it’s not him who worries me.

URI:

Then who is it? What is it?

Pause. HAMUN:

I have drawn the Tower.

URI:

The what?

HAMUN:

It’s not a good sign as far as I can tell … especially because it is in conjunction with …

URI:

Are you talking of that confounded nonsense again? Your fortune telling cards or whatever?

Pause.

489

HAMUN:

When one is in the dark, one grabs at any light. A lamp, a lantern, a firefly, anything will do.

BLIND MAN:

In the dark and mire of politics, one often grabs the wrong hand, mistaking it for an offer of help, of friendship.

Pause. URI goes up to HAMUN and puts his arm around his shoulders. URI:

Is it Thandwai?

HAMUN:

She has changed. I don’t understand her anymore.

URI:

Did you understand her at all? Even in the past?

HAMUN:

What do you mean?

URI:

Do you know she wanted you removed from office, soon after the President died?

HAMUN:

I did hear something. But nothing came of it.

URI:

She elevated you instead. Do you know why?

HAMUN:

The civil service continued to support her.

URI:

And she could use you. 490

Pause. URI:

You are Ashti’s friend.

HAMUN:

So are you.

URI:

Ah! But you were always closer to him. Ashti has never let me forget my background. Do you know how often he sneered at me in college?

HAMUN:

Ashti would never have done that. Don’t you know how much the people of this country love him and how much he loves them?

URI:

Oh yes! The masses! How easy it is to love the masses when you don’t have to touch them or live with them or … smell them.

Silence. URI:

The two of you would talk of your families, of your holidays on the Continent, of the girls you … you loved and I …

HAMUN:

You were always there.

URI:

Yes. I was. Making tea. Taking the messages. The middle-class boy from the home country who has made it to an English university. How proud we are of him!

491

Notice how perfect his accent is! How perfect his garden party etiquette! Silence. HAMUN:

I didn’t know.

URI:

How could you? You were so busy being Ashti’ s best friend. That is why Thandwai let you stay. Because you are Ashti’s most trusted friend.

Pause. HAMUN:

So she knew all the time that he was coming home.

URI:

She sent word to him. She has plans.

HAMUN:

(Agitated.) Plans! Uri, what are you saying? What are these plans?

URI:

It will all be clear this evening …

HAMUN:

This evening? This … the election rally! My god! Uri … you … how could you … (Picking up his mobile phone.) I shall stop Ashti from going there. I will not let this happen.

URI:

The Prince cannot be reached. I advised him, for his own protection, to return to the city just in time for the rally.

HAMUN lunges at URI.

492

HAMUN:

You …

URI, the better trained man, stops HAMUN easily, holds him down for a moment and then lets go. Pause. HAMUN:

Why did you have to tell me?

URI:

I’m a sportsman, old chap. Played cricket for the university.

HAMUN scatters the cards on his desk in a fit of self-disgust and frustration. HAMUN:

I have been blind. BLIND.

URI:

I’ve always thought Ashti had an unfair advantage. He has far too many friends abroad and he is far too much adored here. By the masses. (Viciously.) The electorate.

SAMARA’s song is heard faintly. HAMUN:

My god. What am I going to do? (Slumps down among the fallen cards.)

URI:

(Laughing.) Read your cards, old friend. Read your tarot cards.

URI exits stage left, still laughing. Silence.

493

HAMUN:

(Stands up abruptly.) No! This will not happen. I will not let it happen.

HAMUN exits stage left. BLIND The historian can record only actions, not MAN: intentions. Not even the spoken word has sanctity or absolute meaning …. Have you got that? Absolute meaning when uttered in circumstances that are so confounding that …. Hey! Have they left? Come on … come on … this is one of those moments in history. Come on, hurry up. Don’t dawdle. The MUTE MAN tries to wake up the DEAF MAN but is unsuccessful. The BLIND MAN begins to totter off on his own, still yelling ‘Come on’ and the MUTE MAN, torn between the two, finally exits stage left with him, carrying the ledger. Lights on STREET. SAMARA enters dragging her feet and singing her sad song, softly, despairingly. She sits down and covers her face with her hands, as the DEAF MAN awakens and sees her. He sits up, frees himself of the gag and talks to her, as if she can see and hear him. DEAF I can see you, my orange … MAN: I can see you my … my … my … Borange torange forange … aw … there’s no rhyme

494

for orange. (Laughs.) What a silly fruit … doesn’t even have a rhyme … But why should I compare you to an orange, my sweet? Its skin is like the moon’s, all puckered and pitted. (Intensely, tenderly, unlike his usual mocking manner.) You are the light of the evening lamp … the stillness of a child in sleep … you have the smile of sun splashed water … you are the promise … the gods … did keep … Pause. GANDAVA enters stage left, dressed in rich clothes. He has the look of a hunted man. GANDAVA:

Samara!

SAMARA looks up startled, jumps up and turns to flee. GANDAVA blocks her path. GANDAVA:

No, don’t go Samara. Please listen, please.

As GANDAVA comes within sight, the DEAF MAN, leaps up and dances around him with bloodcurdling sounds, like a warrior around his victim. The actor’s movements and the sounds he makes have to be carefully orchestrated here so that he doesn’t actually come in anyone’s way or drown anyone’s lines.

495

GANDAVA:

Samara … they have dressed me up like a doll … look at me … look. (Crying.) I’m just a doll …

ARRAH enters stage right, runs up to SAMARA and holds her close. GANDAVA:

I’ve lost everything … Samara … my eyes … my ears … my tongue … What do I do? Tell me, Samara …

Pause. ARRAH:

Where you came from, you go there back.

GANDAVA:

I came from here.

ARRAH:

Your mother again gave birth to you. In the palace.

GANDAVA:

It is no palace. It is a prison.

ARRAH:

The writing on your forehead it is.

GANDAVA:

I cannot read it.

ARRAH:

Reading does not come to a Kurubiri.

GANDAVA:

You have eyes, help me.

ARRAH:

The eyes of a Kurubiri are stone.

GANDAV A:

Help me.

496

ARRAH:

A Kurubiri’s ears do not hear. A Kurubiri’s tongue does not speak.

GANDAVA crashes to his knees and throws his head back to wail like an animal with a deathly wound, synchronising it with the sound and movement of the DEAF MAN. As the yell dies away, the BLIND and MUTE MAN quickly enter the CHAMBER upstage. BLIND Have you found him? Where is he? Where MAN: is the idiot? He better have another mother to give him birth again. Catch him, noose him, imprison him … As the BLIND MAN speaks, the MUTE MAN rushes up to the DEAF MAN, holds his arm tight under his own arm and drags him and the BLIND MAN away upstage. GANDAVA is still on his knees but silent, spent. SAMARA frees herself from ARRAH, moves towards GANDAVA and touches him timidly on his arm as PRINCESS SABAH enters stage left. PRINCESS:

My prince! I have been looking everywhere for you.

SAMARA is alarmed and runs off stage right. GANDAVA stands up stiffly. PRINCESS:

(Sharply.) Who was that girl? (To ARRAH.) You! Who is that girl?

497

ARRAH bows and shakes her head to show that she does not know or will not tell. Then, still facing the PRINCESS, she moves backwards and exits stage right. PRINCESS:

(Changing tack.) Oh my prince. I’m sorry … It’s only because I’m feeling so jittery. About this evening. (Attaches herself to him.) Everything will go fine, won’t it? Oh my pet. You are not looking well. Let me feel you. Oh darling, your chest is so hot. (Kisses him.) But mamma will make it all okay … tonight. Mamma and mamma’s little boy will be so happy tonight, won’t we? Kiss me … kiss me …

GANDAVA submits himself to her caresses. URI enters stage left. URI:

Gandava! … Oh! I’m sorry, Princess. (Bows half mockingly.) I didn’t realise … But if you don’t mind my … borrowing … His Highness Prince Ruak … just for a few minutes.

PRINCESS:

What do you want him for now? There’s lots of time …

URI:

I understand, Princess. But as Thandwai has always said, accuracy

498

is of utmost importance … we have exactly ten minutes and twenty nine seconds left. And Gandava … sorry, His Highness … must be seen to be escorting the Prince to the rally. PRINCESS:

Oh alright! Anyway I have to be back in the palace when the news comes. But one more kiss … my prince. And remember! Stay away from the dais. Well away.

URI:

I’ll make sure of that, Princess … I’ll return him safely to you.

The Princess ignores him. She embraces GANDAVA passionately and then, reluctantly, lets him go. URI waits as GANDAVA exits stage left and then follows him out. MATI enters stage right. MATI:

Princess! (Drops to her knees.) Princess.

PRINCESS SABAH retreats from her. PRINCESS:

Who are you? What do you want?

MATI:

Information I have, Princess.

PRINCESS:

Information? What kind of information? … Don’t come near me. I will call the police.

MATI:

You are not to be afraid, Princess. Information I have of that girl.

499

PRINCESS:

What do you mean? What girl?

MATI:

That tongueless girl.

PRINCESS:

Tongueless …

MATI:

Yes, Princess … Palace servant she was …

PRINCESS:

So?

MATI:

Like witch she is. She puts eyes on men … My man she stole. Your Prince … he is …

PRINCESS:

Stop!

MATI pauses, then draws nearer and speaks in a low voice to the PRINCESS who listens intently and then gives her some money and instructions. As the WOMAN backs away and exits stage right, the PRINCESS quickly exits stage left. The BLIND, DEAF and MUTE MEN enter upstage. The DEAF MAN has not been gagged and is unusually subdued. He carries the ledgers as if they are a burden to him. The MUTE MAN leads the BLIND MAN while writing in his book at the same time. BLIND This seems as good a place as any to sit. MAN: Don’t write that, you fool! (All three sit.) Now, where was I? Let me see … hey … don’t poke me with that writing implement, you speechless moron. I remember perfectly … Now, write … It is a curious fact but true that all political plots carry with

500

them some amount of publicity consciousness. What will people think? How best can we cover up what we plan to do? The historian often wonders whether this has anything to do with a deep, unacknowledged sense of shame or whether … A huge commotion is heard offstage, people screaming, shouting, a police siren, police whistles. A crowd of men and women rush in from stage left, the women wailing, the men agitated, shouting. A few of them collapse onstage while the rest exit stage right, still shouting. CROWD:

The Prince … the Prince they shot … Prince … Prince Ashti they shot … he is dead … Prince Ashti is dead …

BLIND MAN:

… of shame … or whether it is the sense of the dramatic that takes over at such moments. Spectacular, unforgettable drama …

There is a high wail from the PALACE and PRINCESS SABAH enters stage left, hair streaming, hands thrown up in grief. She runs on to the STREET still screaming. PRINCESS:

My brother! They have shot my brother! Oh my good people of Eos, say it is not true. Say it is not true …. My brother! 501

The CROWD is silent as the PRINCESS kneels and whirls her head about in an agony of grief. PRINCESS:

Ashti! My older brother! My beloved brother! He is dead. They killed my brother … Ashti … ASHTI … (Faints.)

The men in the CROWD move forward, but are not sure of what to do. The women cry unashamedly. URI and GANDAVA enter STREET from stage left. GANDAVA kneels beside the PRINCESS and rouses her. He lifts her to her feet. Together he and URI half walk and half carry the swooning PRINCESS off stage left. The BLIND MAN speaks as this is acted out. BLIND The electronic media has helped vastly MAN: towards the capturing of such moments for posterity. A silent corpse … a swooning sister … a bewildered country …. What does the historian record when the images are so strong? So compelling? The CROWD murmurs. CROWD:

So much love she has! … How she cried … She is like she has gone mad …. Who says her brother she did not love? You saw no … how

502

she cried … poor Princess … how cruel her life is … first her father … now her brother. ARRAH:

(Off.) SAMARA!

ARRAH enters from stage right. ARRAH:

You have seen Samara? Samara you have seen?

A MAN INArrah! News you have not heard? THE About Prince Ashti! CROWD: ARRAH:

Samara I have not seen for one hour. You have seen Samara? No? (Calls.) Samara! SAMARA! (Exits stage left.)

A MAN:

Such news and she is only thinking of that tongueless girl.

SECOND MAN:

Election what will happen?

FIRST MAN:

They will have afterward …. How you can have election now?

A WOMAN:

A brother is dead … a sister, her eyes are crying blood and you are thinking of election?

SECOND MAN:

I have to eat, no? Posters I was making for election …

503

FIRST MAN:

Bringing people from villages I was doing. Getting money per ten ten person …

SECOND MAN:

Election time is good time for money. Now what will happen?

A WOMAN:

But nobody is saying who is killing. You are talking election election but …

An electronic crackling is heard off stage and as in ACT I, a portable screen is felt to move across the stage from left to right. The THANDWAI’s voice is heard, choking with grief. THANDWAI:

(Voice-over.) Dear people of Eos! Misfortune upon misfortune has come over us. Barely have we recovered from the untimely passing away of your beloved leader, my dear husband, when another tragedy has befallen this luckless family. My husband’s first born … the handsome, charming (Pause.) Prince Ashti … (Sobs.) … is … is no more with us. He … he has been felled by cruel hands just as he was starting what would have been a magnificent career in the service of his country …. And with him … with him has died the Prince’s greatest friend, my advisor Hamun Krabi who, in trying to save the Prince 504

took the first bullet from that infamous instrument of death. (Pause.) My beloved people, from the seclusion of my grief chamber, I beseech you to stay calm. The perpetrators of this cruel deed shall be found and persecuted …. Look at his pictures on the screen, how like his father he is … that same smile … that same gentleness. (Pause, then raises her voice.) He shall be avenged. Prince Ashti’s murderers shall be found and hanged …. But meanwhile, remain in prayer, still your rage, let peace prevail. Let us wipe away each other’s tears, my people. Every mother, every father, every brother and sister among you, knows what grief this family suffers … (Sobs.) I implore you to let us grieve … help us grieve … The screen passes on. The CROWD stays silent. Some two or three exit quietly stage right in the direction of the screen. SECOND MAN:

About election anything.

A WOMAN:

(Suddenly.) Go and ask! Go! Ask why no election and what she is making for food today …. Go and ask.

505

she

did

not

say

SECOND MAN:

Ay! Why you are getting so angry? Ay!

The woman exits stage right, followed by the SECOND MAN and the rest of the CROWD. BLIND It is not easy for the historian to name the MAN: central characters in a play of political intrigue. What is apparent may not be true, what is hidden may not be secret … Lights on PALACE. PRINCESS SABAH is pacing up and down while GANDAVA is seated in a chair, brooding and URI is standing to attention. PRINCESS:

So why have you not arrested him yet? This rowdy … whatsisname …

URI:

Wokha.

PRINCESS:

Whatever. He should have been paraded in the streets by now. It’s more than fifteen hours … fifteen bloody hours …. Where is he?

Silence. PRINCESS:

I am asking you a question. WHERE IS HE?

THANDWAI:

(Off.) Sabah, my dear … compose yourself. The television crew will be here very soon.

506

URI:

In twelve minute seconds, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

Thank you, Commissioner. Now Sabah, it is time for you to get ready … you have to represent the family.

PRINCESS:

Stop talking to me as if I am fucking six years old …

THANDWAI:

Sabah!

PRINCESS:

Tell me where the man is and why you have not caught him. If this bastard won’t tell me … you will. (Turns to GANDAVA.) Tell me.

GANDAVA:

(In a dull voice.) He disappeared once he got his full payment.

PRINCESS:

(Shrieks.) What! You mean you let him go? Between the two of you and the entire police force you fucking let him go?

URI:

He shall be caught, Princess.

PRINCESS:

When? After he sleeps with your wife? What sort of man are you? Impotent! Emasculated! That’s what you are … you pimp … Now listen to me. I want this man shot dead within the next two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes … that’s all I give you. Do you understand? (To GANDAVA.) Come on … I have to 507

and

seven

get dressed mourning.

for

the

bloody

PRINCESS SABAH and GANDAVA exit stage right. Silence. THANDWAI:

Well, Commissioner?

URI:

Yes, Thandwai.

THANDWAI:

Is everything under control?

URI:

There are rumours slipping through. As intended.

THANDWAI:

And?

URI:

Hamun’s men have been rounded up. To help the police in their investigations.

THANDWAI:

Poor Hamun. I hope he is properly dead?

URI:

Yes, Thandwai. I saw to it. His name will be engraved in golden letters for giving up his life to save the Prince.

THANDWAI:

Good. We shall take the next step after the funeral.

URI:

Your reappearance, Thandwai?

THANDWAI:

That’s right. Sabah has to be controlled now. She is getting power hungry.

508

Pause. URI:

Will that be all Thandwai?

THANDWAI:

For the moment, yes.

URI begins to move stage left. THANDWAI:

Oh and Uri …

URI:

Thandwai?

THANDWAI:

Thank you.

URI exits stage left. BLIND I don’t care what you think. You write what I MAN: tell you … Yes … yes … I know all that nonsense about for the people, with the people … in the people …. Where are the people? You tell me that …. Where are they? Can you hear them? I can’t. They are like you … without a tongue … you blithering idiot. The MUTE MAN taps on the BLIND MAN’s chest. BLIND Alright, they are blind also. But it is worse MAN: to be without speech and hearing than to be without sight. Do you know why? Because that’s how that whore … democracy … emasculates them … (Laughs.) Can you think of giving a vote to a man who cannot

509

speak or laughing.)

hear?

(Almost

collapses

The MUTE MAN taps words furiously all over the BLIND MAN. The BLIND MAN sits up. BLIND You are tickling me with all that rhetoric. MAN: Alright … alright … democracy is not a whore … she’s a lady … are you satisfied? She’s a genteel, bloodless lady who sleeps with the king and flirts with the factory worker and the tradesman and the … (Stops suddenly.) Lights on PALACE. PRINCESS SABAH enters, dressed in white, and seats herself on a chair with GANDAVA standing behind her, in military uniform. URI stands to a side, his head bowed. This is a television recording. As it progresses and TV cameras roll, the CROWD enters the STREET in twos and threes and sits, back to the audience, staring up at if at at TV screen. PRINCESS:

(In a low voice.) This is a very sad time for us, as I’m sure you understand. I spoke to you a little more than seven months ago when my … beloved father died …. Now … with the same heavy heart, I face you again on behalf of my grief-stricken mother and my 510

heartbroken younger brother who are unable to be here …. Like the last time I shall attempt to answer your questions … (Turns to URI who hands her a small tray holding slips of paper. The PRINCESS unfolds the slips one by one and glances at them as she speaks.) Yes … we have already launched a massive search for the killer and the Commissioner assures us (Turns to URI with a sad smile.) that he will apprehend the criminal by tonight. I gave him twenty-four hours but his own efficiency will not allow him more than two …. Yes … our dear Secretary of State, Hamun Krabi will be laid to rest next to his greatest friend whose life he attempted to save. (Wipes a tear.) Sorry …. About the elections … it is only right that we postpone them till the period of mourning for my beloved brother comes to an end … the people of Eos will surely understand … SECOND MAN:

Tcchah!

A WOMAN:

Ssh!

PRINCESS:

A personal question! Well … my fiancé and I (Looks up tenderly at

511

GANDAVA and puts her hand on his.) have decided that we shall wait for our grief to heal before we set dates for our wedding. We have world enough … and time …. (Pause.) But for now, I must stay by my mother’s side … be husband, son and advisor …. That is all …. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press … URI steps across and whispers something to GANDAVA who whispers into the ear of the PRINCESS. PRINCESS:

Oh yes …. Ladies and gentlemen … we have put together an exhibition in the city hall, as a small tribute to the late Prince. The Commissioner will escort you there. (Looks at URI, then faces the cameras and casts her eyes down. Lights on her fade.)

BLIND MAN:

What a woman! Did you hear the way her voice trembled? Did you hear the tears? She will outdo her mother one of these days.

A WOMAN:

You saw her eyes? All red they are.

SECOND MAN:

Why? You think her eyes should be white?

512

A WOMAN:

Ay! Do not make quarrel with me … Warning I am giving you …

Pause. FIRST MAN:

You are hearing some strange news?

SECOND MAN:

About election?

A WOMAN:

Oh, you shut your mouth. Tell your news, brother.

FIRST MAN:

You know that Wokha?

SECOND MAN:

Wokha?

FIRST MAN:

They are saying he only killed Prince.

A WOMAN:

Such things who can tell?

FIRST MAN:

They are telling he got money to kill Prince.

A WOMAN:

Wokha, Gandava … old friends they are. Now look where Gandava is …

FIRST MAN:

Wokha is also rich man now … very rich man …

513

A WOMAN:

What you are saying, brother?

The CROWD gets into a huddle and the FIRST MAN whispers something. A WOMAN:

No … No … I am not believing …

FIRST MAN:

Why you are not believing? You have not heard old stories our grandmothers are telling about kings and queens? How father kills son and sister kills brother?

SECOND MAN:

But now we are having election … not king and queen …

A WOMAN:

I am not believing … I am not believing … I am not …

She exits stage right running with her hands over her ears. The others in the CROWD follow her, whispering among themselves. DEAF MAN:

(Suddenly.) I don’t like this place. Let’s go away.

BLIND MAN:

Go where? You think a historian can choose where to go?

DEAF MAN:

This is an ugly place … a foul place …

514

BLIND MAN:

I agree …. But every swamp has a tale to tell …

The DEAF MAN begins to gather the ledgers and put them together. DEAF MAN:

I don’t like this place … it’s a foul place … an ugly place …. Let’s go …

A sound like thunder can be heard offstage. As the scene progresses the thunder gathers momentum like the approach of an uncontrollable storm. BLIND A true historian sticks to his post … like a MAN: horse trained to run long distance … or a silly boy on a burning deck …. (Laughs.) So which one are we? The DEAF MAN begins to move off. The MUTE MAN rushes up to him and gestures, first furiously and then coaxingly, pleadingly. The DEAF MAN relents and allows himself to be led back to sit near the BLIND MAN who has been talking all the while. BLIND We are actually very well qualified for the MAN: historian’s job … an idiot with a dead tongue … a moron who has his ears snuffed out and … I … I who sees more than anyone else … The MUTE MAN taps the BLIND MAN and sits down to write furiously.

515

BLIND Alright. You don’t have to act so virtuous … MAN: I know what to say and when to say it … unlike you … you swollen tongue. Start writing then …. When does the worm turn? When do the masses suddenly rise up and storm the Bastille or the Palace or the nearest police station? No historian can actually separate the facts from the chaff, from the dust, from the grain … What starts as a whisper, a lilt of a rumour gradually, inexorably turns into a storm, a whirlwind, a cyclone with no centre, a howling mob with one red eye. There is a sound like that of thunder which gets louder and nearer … Now the voices of men and women can be heard screaming, yelling … the thudding of feet … the sound of gunfire … cries and wails. Lights on PALACE. PRINCE DEYETH stands with his back to the audience as if looking out of a window. PRINCESS SABAH rushes out of the inner room, panting. PRINCESS:

They are after us, Deyeth. Run!

She exits stage left. PRINCE DEYETH does not move. There is a long scream offstage. PRINCESS:

(Off.) No. Stay back. You can’t come in here … stop … 516

There is a rattle of gunfire and her voice is cut off. A dishevelled MAN enters the PALACE. He sees PRINCE DEYETH and lunges at him. The PRINCE hits out with his crutch, the MAN collapses. PRINCE DEYETH loses his balance and falls. The CROWD surges into the PALACE. CROWD:

Kill. Kill them. KILL.

MAN:

(Shouts.) Only corpses there are.

The CROWD upturns the furniture furiously and surges into the STREET, taking the same route as the PRINCESS did in her wailing. CROWD:

Kill. For Prince Ashti kill …. Kill for Prince Ashti.

There is a sound of gunfire. Two or three of the CROWD fall. There is pandemonium The CROWD goes berserk and runs this way and that. BLIND It is difficult to say what such bloodletting MAN: achieves …. Does it stop power gambling? Does it help raise the masses? When the masses are raised are they the masses at all? Do they have the same disabilities as earlier? The taste of power is salty like tears. The smell of power is ferrous, like … blood.

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GANDAVA enters stage left carrying the body of SAMARA. He lays it down gently, strips himself of his fine clothes and dresses SAMARA with them. GANDAVA:

(Softly.) Samara my queen. Silk clothes I will bring you … To temple we will go … There will be yellow flowers and white flowers And gold cart will come To temple we will go …

ARRAH enters stage left carrying a bloody knife. ARRAH:

Gandava … Mati is finished. Her snake tongue is gone.

GANDAVA:

And the priest he will say …

ARRAH:

(Kneeling.) Gandava? Samara?

GANDAVA:

White flowers and yellow flowers. Silk flowers and gold flowers …

ARRAH:

Gandava! Gandava! What you are doing? Samara! (Realises SAMARA is dead.)

GANDAVA:

Samara, my queen, the priest I will bring you. White cart and yellow cart …

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ARRAH stands and runs to the PALACE, shrieking, screaming. ARRAH:

Thandwai … you have done this … You. Only be red flower now … red flowers … blood flowers.

ARRAH enters the PALACE, looks around and then plunges into the inner room. ARRAH:

(Screaming.) Thandwai … Thandwai …

There is a silence and then a horrified scream from ARRAH. ARRAH:

Thandwai!

ARRAH returns on stage. DEYETH struggles to sit up. ARRAH sees him and hesitates. DEYETH:

Thandwai is poisoned her.

dead.

Her

daughter

Silence. DEYETH:

Do you want to kill me?

ARRAH looks at him and drops the knife. She moves slowly towards him and takes him gently into her arms. SAMARA’S song is heard, softly at first and then louder and louder. As the song ends the three MEN assemble centre stage, each holding long white scarves.

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BLIND MAN:

I saw and was blinded.

DEAF MAN:

I heard and became deaf.

MUTE MAN:

I spoke and I was silenced.

DEAF MAN:

No more hearing.

He ties the scarf around the MUTE MAN’s ears. BLIND MAN:

No more seeing.

He ties the scarf around the DEAF MAN’s eyes. MUTE MAN:

No more speaking.

He ties the scarf around the BLIND MAN’s mouth. SAMARA’S song is heard again as the lights fade. Blackout.

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About the Author Poile Sengupta has taught English Literature at Indraprastha College and Miranda House, University of Delhi, and is an award-winning playwright and actor. Her first play, Mangalam, won a special award in the Hindu-Madras Players Playscripts Competition, 1993. Keats Was A Tuber was shortlisted and received a special mention in the 1996 British Council International New Playscripts Competition. Her plays have been extensively performed. Poile Sengupta is also a well-known children’s writer. Her recent books for children include Vikramaditya’s Throne (2007), Good Heavens! (One Act Plays for Children) (2006) and Vikram and Vetal (2005). Her stories have appeared in several anthologies. She can be [email protected].

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