Women Centre Stage

2
Women Centre Stage
The Dramatist and the Play
Poile Sengupta

3
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

4
A catalogue record of this book is available from the
British Library

ISBN: 978-0-415-56314-7

5
To my husband Abhijit, who shares my theatre
madness and helps me balance the formalities of
the stage with its magic.

6
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

7
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.

8
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.

9
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

10
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

11
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

12
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

13
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

14
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

15
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

16
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

17
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

18
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.

19
*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. Nirmal Varma and U.
R.Ananthamurthy

20
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,

21
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

23
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.

25
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?

26
 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

28
 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.

29
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?

30
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

31
 … 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.

33
 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 Women die many kinds of deaths;

(FEMALE):
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 crying on Friday
evenings.
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 me like a
stubborn child,
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 spend our
hypocrisies here.
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 the letter. It looks
important.
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

67
 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.

68
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.)

69
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?

70
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

71
 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 you don’t get
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
 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

75
 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 must pay for their
trespass.
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 happened? Are you
alright?
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.

78
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 do? Rape his
sister-in-law?
THANGAM: In a way, yes. The girl had gone to
help her sister with her delivery. She

83
 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.

88
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-

93
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.)

94
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?

95
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.)

96
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

97
 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.

98
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.

100
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?

101
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

102
 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.

103
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.

104
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.

105
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

106
 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.

107
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

109
 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.

110
 (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

111
 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

112
 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.

113
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

114
 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?

115
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?

116
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.

118
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?

119
 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.

120
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?

121
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 anything about
married life.
SUMATI: No, I don’t ….
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

122
 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 …

123
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

124
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 Uncle. I can
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
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.

126
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 has happened?
Amma! Sumati!
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 forward.

SURESH restrains him.)
Blackout.

127
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.

129
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 Sengupta/Sandhya
Krishnan

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 (Calls.) Laavanya! O Laavanya!

HRIMAAN: 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 Nearly time for tea. Come now, you
HRIMAAN: 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 Just what?
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: Dreaming.
MRS About what?
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: Oh, Mum! You know about what …
MRS Well, it’s only … let me see … three
HRIMAAN: thousand eight hundred and twenty
two minutes since you went to see the
gynaecologist …

134
VANYA: (Enters.) Mum! You are hopeless.
Maths isn’t really your strong point.
Do you know how many hours that
makes?
MRS Not really. It sounds grand though,
HRIMAAN: 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 (Playing the game.) This morning?
HRIMAAN: 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 No I don’t.
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: (Giving up.) Mum! You know what I
am talking about. The meeting!
MRS Oh, the meeting! The one you were
HRIMAAN: 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 Oh! That’s interesting! And what do
HRIMAAN: the club members do?
VANYA: They talk … and they talk and they …
MRS … Talk. But about what?
HRIMAAN:
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.

139
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

140
 … 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 Our mothers-in-law!
TOGETHER:
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 we can start
proceedings.
VANYA: Proceedings?
RADHA: She is meaning interview, like for
job.

141
RUGMINI: It’s a mere formality. A few
questions.
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 you have for dessert,
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

145
 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 …

148
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 Of course you had to … it was peer
HRIMAAN: 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 Don’t feel so bad, Vanya sweetheart. I
HRIMAAN: 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 May I come in? I am Mrs Hrimaan.
HRIMAAN: Mrs Pandu asked me here. There was
to be a meeting or something.
MRS (In a faint, invalid voice.) Yes. Yes.
NANDAN: The others will be here soon. Please
sit down. I am Mrs Nandan…. Do you
want some water or something?
MRS No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.
HRIMAAN:
MRS (Alert.) That is not a good sign. My
NANDAN: 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 I’m sorry to hear you’ve had a heart
HRIMAAN: attack. When did this happen? Are
you alright now?
MRS How I can be alright? I live with my
NANDAN: daughter-in-law, is it not?
MRS I don’t understand. What has your
HRIMAAN: daughter-in-law to do …?
MRS (Confidentially.) I will tell you. You
NANDAN: know what she wants? She wants me
to have another heart attack.
MRS What!
HRIMAAN:

150
MRS You do not know her … she is a
NANDAN: 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 But …
HRIMAAN:
MRS She is very clever, very, very clever.
NANDAN: 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 But she knows what the doctor has
HRIMAAN: said and in spite of that she …

151
MRS You don’t understand her game? She
NANDAN: 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 And another thing. She pretends to be

NANDAN: 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 Mrs Nandan, sorry, hum late ho

PANDU: 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 You have a daughter-in-law?
VASUDEV:
MRS Yes, I have a very sweet …
HRIMAAN:
MRS Sweet? Don’t talk of sweets. I am
NANDAN: fed up. You know what happened
today morning? She started off
again, ‘What sweet you want,
Amma? What …’
MRS Mrs Nandan, this jabardast giving
PANDU: you sweets, I don’t like. Main bilkul
like nahi karti.
MRS (Sobbing.) I see it all. Her
VASUDEV: 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 Oh, don’t say that, Mrs Vasudev.
DASARATH: Mrs Nandan is so sweet. After all,

153
 you can’t kill two birds with one
heart attack.
MRS What are you saying about doctors,
NANDAN: Mrs Vasudev? You don’t know my
doctor. He’s a gentleman’s
gentleman.
MRS But a gentleman’s gentleman is a
HRIMAAN: valet …
MRS And how is your bahu, Mrs
PANDU: 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 Mrs Pandu, you will feel hungry
NANDAN: 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.

154
MRS How cute! But sometimes I don’t
DASARATH: 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 Mrs Nandan, you also thoda sa
PANDU: khaayiye naa.
MRS Please, all of you eat…. But don’t
NANDAN: 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 (To MRS HRIMAAN.) She is so
VASUDEV: lucky, Mrs Nandan, that’s what I
keep telling her. At least her son
allowed her to arrange his marriage.

155
 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 Mrs Vasudev, how imaginative you
DASARATH: 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!

156
MRS Mrs Nandan, yeh sweetsour waali
PANDU: food main bahut like karti hoon.
Isme khatta fifty hai and meetha
forty-five.
MRS But did my daughter-in-law go with
DASARATH: 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 She says I should not think of

DASARATH: 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 Yeh toh bahut bada cheek hai!
PANDU:
MRS Please, Mrs Dasarath, please don’t
VASUDEV: 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 Mrs Vasudev, you are so sweet.
DASARATH: 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 My daughter-in-law? My
VASUDEV: 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 Bas! Bas! That will do. We can’t let
PANDU: our bahus rule over us like this. Yeh
bahut hi bad baat hai.
MRS You are right. After all, honesty is
DASARATH: only a policy.
MRS So what should we do?
NANDAN:
MRS Make plans! We will teach them a
PANDU: accha lesson. So they will keep their
mouths shut. Give us some izzat.

158
MRS Oh, how sweet! I love making plans,
DASARATH: 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 They were still plotting against their

HRIMAAN: 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 Oh, you can’t! You cannot meet them!
HRIMAAN: They have some bizarre law about it!
VANYA: A law?
MRS A really bizarre one. None of them are
HRIMAAN: supposed to meet the others’
daughters-in-law.

159
VANYA: Oh, so that’s why the DILs were so
cagey! I can’t believe this. And why
such a law?
MRS I really couldn’t make that out. The
HRIMAAN: weddings were around the same time,
but were held in other towns, at the
brides’ places.
VANYA: Of course. And one was an
elopement, in any case.
MRS That’s right. And I think it was she set
HRIMAAN: 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 I don’t blame them.
HRIMAAN:
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
 Duck! Cover face! Watch for the
bullets. Bang! Bangbang!
MRS (Helps LAAVANYA up, pauses.) You
HRIMAAN: 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 What about starting a family? Haven’t
HRIMAAN: 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 Drama! You should see Mrs Vasudev
HRIMAAN: 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!

161
MRS Vanya, stop shrieking like that and tell
HRIMAAN: me! What is the idea?
VANYA: Listen! We are both tired of the
attitudes these women have towards
each other?
MRS Yes.
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: We believe mothers-in-law and
daughters-in-law can live reasonably
civilised lives with each other?
MRS Yes, definitely.
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: And you will do anything for this
cause?
MRS Yes … I mean … hold on! What do
HRIMAAN: you mean anything?
VANYA: I mean work, struggle, put all our
energies into it.
MRS I suppose so. I suppose we can. But
HRIMAAN: 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?

162
MRS Oh, oh yes. He used to say, two
HRIMAAN: 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 I agree. But what has that to do with
HRIMAAN: …
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 Right.
HRIMAAN:
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 What, what, what, what, what?
HRIMAAN:
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 Oh yes. Just one session will do. Just
HRIMAAN: 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 I think I am beginning to see …. We
HRIMAAN: 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 The other mothers-in-law are happy
HRIMAAN: …
VANYA: And at a suitable moment, we reveal
who effected the cure …
MRS And Urmila’s mother-in-law is very
HRIMAAN: proud of her daughter-in-law, and
makes much of her. It seems a good
idea!
VANYA: And simple, isn’t it?
MRS Y … yes. It seems pretty simple. But
HRIMAAN: 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.

164
VANYA: Easy! You tell Mrs Vasudev that you
need her help with me. That I need to
be educated in some way …
MRS Oh, so she’ll think Urmila is you?
HRIMAAN:
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 I’m sure she will. And I’ll tell Mrs
HRIMAAN: 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 I’m sure she will…. But can’t we do
HRIMAAN: 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 You are sure this will work? I mean, I
HRIMAAN: 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 You think they will agree individually,
HRIMAAN: 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 So are my girls!
HRIMAAN:
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 They will love the idea of the
HRIMAAN: programme, I can guarantee that. I
can just see them wanting to reform
you …

166
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

167
 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 …

168
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
…

169
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:

170
 (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?

171
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.

172
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 …

173
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 …?

174
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 Now, now, Mrs Hrimaan, don’t give

DASARATH: 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 She has been acting like this ever
HRIMAAN: since …
MRS Wait! Wait! Here, here is dear Mrs
DASARATH: 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 This is zero bacteria hot water. I
NANDAN: 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 Thank you, I am feeling much
HRIMAAN: better. But what should I do with my
daughter-in-law? She …
MRS Wait! Wait! I can see dear Mrs
DASARATH: Pandu coming. She should hear the
story too, isn’t it?
Enter MRS PANDU with a large set of notebooks.

MRS Main direct school se aayee. Mrs

PANDU: Nandan, you are not lying down?
Aap ki tabeeyat is alright?
MRS How can I be ever alright again after
NANDAN: my massive heart attack? But Mrs
Hrimaan had so much palpilitation,
so much palpilitation that I went

176
 inside and got water. Mrs Dasarath
also came by that time.
MRS Ohho, Mrs Hrimaan, why are you
PANDU: 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 Thank you. Thank you so much.
HRIMAAN: Shall I start now …? You see, she
has been acting like this since …
MRS Wait! I can see dear Mrs Vasudev at
DASARATH: 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 I’m sorry I’m late. But I did not like

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

177
MRS Bas, bas. No crying. Tell us now.
PANDU: What happened?
MRS Well, it started from the day of the
HRIMAAN: 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 This is too much! It is quite criminal,
DASARATH: if you ask me.
MRS Han, han. What else?
PANDU:
MRS This itself is so bad! Imagine telling
DASARATH: 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 No! She doesn’t care about it at all.
HRIMAAN: When she goes out with my son,
she looks as if she has just washed
the dog.
MRS Mrs Pandu, this is really terrible. I
DASARATH: must get some of my own special
face pack and use it on her and …

178
MRS We will think of remedies baad
PANDU: mein. Let us hear some more
now…. Kahiye, Mrs Hrimaan …
MRS The other thing is her cooking. It is
HRIMAAN: 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 Ah! I know all types of diets … I will
NANDAN: …
MRS Thahariye, Mrs Nandan. One
PANDU: minute please. Mrs Hrimaan, what
about her general education
(Pronounces ‘d’ as ‘j’.)? Mujhe lagta
hai that she is not well-educated.
MRS She has done her MPhil in English
HRIMAAN: Literature from …
MRS Samjhi! Samjhi! So she does not
PANDU: know any conversation English, hai
na?
MRS What about her knowledge of other
VASUDEV: things … like TV programmes?
MRS That is the worst thing in her, the
HRIMAAN: very worst. She never watches TV,
can you imagine? My son has

179
 installed cable TV, bought a foreign
VCR, but she says TV programmes
and video films are all rubbish.
MRS My god! I never thought I will live to
VASUDEV: 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 No!
HRIMAAN:
MRS Mrs Pandu, let us not waste any
VASUDEV: more time. Even now, we may be
too late.
MRS Mrs Vasudev, you have taken the
HRIMAAN: 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 Of course I will, dear Mrs Hrimaan. I
VASUDEV: will start at once, immediately, in

180
 fact. It will be an honour. And don’t
lose hope. Never lose hope.
MRS You are so right, Mrs Vasudev. We
DASARATH: must start at once. After all, hope,
soap and the Pope always go
together.
MRS I will start getting my recipe books.
NANDAN: Are you vegetarian or
non-vegetarian, Mrs Hrimaan?
MRS Both … But Mrs Nandan, you have
HRIMAAN: 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 The sessions are in your house?
NANDAN: 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 Ladies! Please, ladies! Why are you
PANDU: 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.

181
MRS I thought, as I said earlier, Mrs
HRIMAAN: 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 Nahi, nahi, Mrs Hrimaan. You don’t
PANDU: 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 What a sweet idea. Mrs Pandu
DASARATH: always has sweet ideas. Mrs
Hrimaan, come, come with me …
Slowly now…. Ah! Like that! Good
girl!
MRS But … really, I think mine is quite
HRIMAAN: the best plan … Mrs Vasudev on
the first day …
MRS Ssh! No talking! See, the others are
DASARATH: already making their darling plans
… how sweet they look, isn’t it?
Now … let me see you close your
eyes … (Tiptoes away elaborately.)
MRS Han, toh what syllabus must we
PANDU: prepare? (Writing.) Conversation
English, cooking, beautifying …

182
MRS General education …
VASUDEV:
MRS Ge..ner..al … Education mein ‘j’
PANDU: hotha hai?
MRS E..d..u..c..
VASUDEV:
MRS Thik hai, thik hai … Now, kaun kya
PANDU: karega? Cooking …
MRS I just want to say … that since all of
HRIMAAN: you may not be free on the same
day, we could …
MRS Now, now, ssh … just lie down … or
DASARATH: somebody will get upset …
MRS Han, toh I am asking … who is
PANDU: doing the cooking ke lessons?
(Writing.) Cooking …
MRS I, Mrs Nandan. All different styles …
NANDAN: South Indian, Maharashtrian,
Bengali … East and West …
MRS Woh sab is your decision … I am
PANDU: only writing main headlines…. Next
… beautifying … Mrs Dasarath…
aap complexion ka dekhengi … and
what else …?
MRS If I might suggest … she is not likely
HRIMAAN: to …

183
MRS No! No talking! … Yes, Mrs Pandu, I
DASARATH: will deal with hair … nails … clothes
…
MRS With clothes I can help you, Mrs
VASUDEV: Dasarath. I watch the video fashion
show regularly!
MRS Really! Do you remember that lovely
DASARATH: dress last week? The one that
looked like a pumpkin? It was so
cute!
MRS One of the characters in this serial,
VASUDEV: Fanta Parapara, wears only bikinis
… micro bikinis! You should see the
look in the men’s eyes …. Even my
husband’s driver …
MRS Ladies! Please! We are taking bahut
PANDU: 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 I agree. It is better to go together. I
NANDAN: can easily tell the girl one two things
about cooking while …
MRS I am applying the face pack …
DASARATH:

184
MRS And I can read out the summaries of
VASUDEV: the serials …
MRS Thik hai! Main bhi apne lessons
PANDU: 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 I am free only on Saturday
DASARATH: afternoons. I have rummy in the
mornings, and tambola on Sundays.
MRS Main bhi Saturday afternoon ko hi
PANDU: khali hoon.
MRS I am free each and every afternoon.
NANDAN: But I will say I am free only on
Saturday so that we can all go
together.
MRS Good idea! I will also say that.
VASUDEV:
MRS Then, we will do one thing. We will
PANDU: 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 Agreed!
OTHERS:
MRS So yeh aane wale Saturday we will
PANDU: 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 But can’t you make it on different
HRIMAAN: days? You don’t know my
daughter-in-law! She might smell
something fishy and …
MRS That is why we thought of this sweet
DASARATH: plan, Mrs Hrimaan. That is why we
are coming at different times.
MRS And you must say who should come
VASUDEV: after me, and who should come
third …

186
MRS You are sure you can’t come on
HRIMAAN: 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 Mrs Hrimaan, if your bahu suddenly
PANDU: wants to go out, aap usko roko. It is
your duty to stop her! You want us
to help or not?
MRS Of course I want your help … it’s
HRIMAAN: 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 But Mrs Hrimaan, we are free only
PANDU: Saturday afternoon ko. Yeh wala,
this Saturday afternoon.
MRS After that, I don’t know when I will
NANDAN: have time, abba! So much work I
have to do!
MRS So sweet! I too have no time after
DASARATH: this Saturday.
MRS And you wanted us to start at once,
VASUDEV: didn’t you Mrs Hrimaan?
Everyone looks at MRS HRIMAAN accusingly.

187
MRS Alright, have it your way. But I will ring
HRIMAAN: 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 That will be alright. Woh thik rahega,
PANDU: hain na?
The others nod.

MRS You look so sweet when you are

DASARATH: 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 I still think you should come on
HRIMAAN: 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 centre stage.

LAAVANYA enters in a rush.

VANYA: Mom! Where are you, Mom?

Enter MRS HRIMAAN.

188
MRS Here I am! What happened? Did
HRIMAAN: everything go off alright?
VANYA: I don’t know! You see, they all want to
come on the same day!
MRS Oh my goodness! The ladies also
HRIMAAN: want to come all on the same day!
VANYA: Which day?
MRS Saturday! Saturday afternoon!
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: Oh, my goodness! That’s the day the
girls are coming too!
MRS What do we do now? Are they all
HRIMAAN: 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 Wait! Don’t panic! We will think of
HRIMAAN: 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

189
 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 Fine! Then there won’t be a problem.
HRIMAAN: 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 And we then have to worry about
HRIMAAN: 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 And a sorceress daughter-in-law …
HRIMAAN:
VANYA: (Thinking.) Yes. I think it will be
alright. A little nerve-racking but …

190
 we’ll go through with it. What do you
say?
MRS Can’t back out now, sweetheart.
HRIMAAN: 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 Yes …. She is … that worked out
HRIMAAN: 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

191
downstage. MRS HRIMAAN meets them far
downstage.

VANYA: Oh, I hope it goes off alright. I’m

feeling so scared.
MRS What is there to be scared about? It
HRIMAAN: 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 Vanya sweetheart, relax! This kind of
HRIMAAN: 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 The trouble with history is that it
HRIMAAN: ignores the moment of tension when
faced with the achievement at the end
of it.

192
VANYA: (Crossing over to give MRS
HRIMAAN a kiss.) Oh Mom! You say
such wise things at moments like this.
You’re wonderful!
MRS (Trying to be brave.) At moments like
HRIMAAN: 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 I can see a car stopping at the gate
HRIMAAN: …! 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 Don’t panic! Just don’t panic! Let me
HRIMAAN: think.
VANYA: Think fast! Urmila’s nearly here.
MRS I know! You keep Urmila talking at the
HRIMAAN: 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

193
 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 Don’t worry about that now. Let’s
HRIMAAN: handle this crisis first. Go. Quick!
LAAVANYA leaves upstage right as MRS
DASARATH and MRS PANDU enter downstage
left.

MRS Oh, Mrs Dasarath! And Mrs Pandu!

HRIMAAN: (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 You are looking so cute, Mrs
DASARATH: Hrimaan. Now where do I …
MRS Don’t worry about me, Mrs Hrimaan.
PANDU: I came early because mera work
khatam ho gaya tha. I will look at
your lovely bageecha while you

194
 make all the arrangements for Mrs
Dasarath.
MRS There are really no arrangements to
HRIMAAN: 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 Han, han! We’ll do it like that!
PANDU:
MRS Then why don’t you come along
HRIMAAN: too? You and I can discuss so many
things over a cup of tea.
MRS Nahi. I do not want ek cup chai at
PANDU: this time.
MRS Mrs Hrimaan, I have to make my
DASARATH: preparations. You see, I use only
herbals and …. Where is this guest
bedroom?
MRS (Desperately.) Won’t you come too,
HRIMAAN: Mrs Pandu?
MRS Nahi, nahi! I am bilkul fine here!
PANDU: Don’t worry! You two go!
MRS Come Mrs. Hrimaan, I must get this
DASARATH: ready.
(MRS HRIMAAN leads MRS DASARATH away
reluctantly, upstage left, as MRS PANDU remains

195
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.

196
MRS Ah! So you are the bahu! Accha hua
PANDU: 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 Kya? Lie down on the couch? … You
PANDU: 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 Han, han. Poochho, zarur poochho! But
PANDU: 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 Kya? What are you saying? Yeh
PANDU: 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?

197
MRS Dream? Han, han. I have a dream of
PANDU: teaching Angrezi to the whole country.
URMILA: That’s very laudable but I am asking
about other kinds of dreams. Private
dreams.
MRS Yeh kya hai, private dreams, public
PANDU: dreams.
URMILA: Do you dream in black and white or in
colour?
MRS Arre! We have colour TV. Why should I
PANDU: 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 Itna jab show off kar rahi ho, you tell me
PANDU: 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 (After a pause.) Spelling bhool gayi?
PANDU:

198
URMILA: Sorry…. S..n..a..k..e … snake. Now tell
me, what word do you associate with
the word ‘snake’?
MRS Snake? … Garden! Bageecha! … Han!
PANDU: 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 If you don’t give, then seekhegi kaise,
PANDU: han? Bol quickly, bol.
URMILA: Alright! Alright! I’ll play it your way. Let
me see …. Snake … a phallic symbol!
MRS Arre, buddhu! … Reptile! Reptile! A
PANDU: 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 ….

199
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 What a strange house this is! I

DASARATH: 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 How sweetly you put it! … Maybe
DASARATH: 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 (Massaging her face.) Sit quietly
DASARATH: 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 (Begins to apply the face mask with
DASARATH: 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!

201
MRS I know, I know, the face pack is
DASARATH: 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 I got so late, Mrs Hrimaan, I did not go

NANDAN: 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 (Off.) It was a ghost, Mrs Dasarath.
NANDAN: You can say what you like … it was
a ghost. I saw it with my own eyes.
MRS (Off.) What a sweet idea! But there
DASARATH: are no such things as ghosts.
Come, you come with me, it must
be something quite simple.
MRS (Off.) It was a ghost! I am telling
NANDAN: 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,

203
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 It was making faces sitting on a

NANDAN: chair, on that ch … Ayyayyo! It is
still there. Look!
MRS (Laughing. She has a tinkly laugh.)
DASARATH: 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 (Screams suddenly.) Where is my
NANDAN: non-stick? Where is my non-stick
gone? It was just here … my
non-stick …
MRS Now, now, Mrs Nandan, it must still
DASARATH: 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 It is not anywhere … I must have taken

NANDAN: 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 Mrs Pandu will you do me a favour,

DASARATH: 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 Dekho! Don’t make mazaak of me!
PANDU: 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 You are now calling me names? Let
PANDU: 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 (Off.) Mrs Pandu, has she scrubbed
DASARATH: 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 Mrs Hrimaan … Mrs Hrimaan…. Oh,

VASUDEV: 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 Mujhe kuch nahi maloom! Kuch nahi!
PANDU: (Shouts.) Mrs Hrimaan! Mrs Hrimaan
…
Enter a harassed MRS HRIMAAN.

206
MRS Mrs Hrimaan, I came to help you and
PANDU: 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 I am terribly sorry, Mrs Pandu. I was
HRIMAAN: 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 (Arranging her wares happily, calls

VASUDEV: 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?

208
 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 not
Laavanya? Oh my god!
RUGMINI: (Off.) Laavanya!
RADHA: You are not wanting to see her,
I think. (MRS VASUDEV shakes

212
 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! Where is

everybody? Laavanya!
Enter MRS NANDAN upstage left.

MRS So much of shouting! So much of

NANDAN: 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 You will help me?
NANDAN:
RUGMINI: Certainly! I work in a …

213
MRS You will help me find my non-stick?
NANDAN:
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 Divide! Divide! That is what she
NANDAN: 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 What is the colour of the casseroles?
NANDAN:

214
RUGMINI: Colour? Why do you want to know the
colour?
MRS The blue casseroles with the rose
NANDAN: 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 Why should I cook for so many
NANDAN: 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 They will all be from her side of the
NANDAN: 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 (Spotting the frying pan with delight.)
NANDAN: 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 Your classes! You are so interested in
NANDAN: cooking, no? Come, now that I have
got my non-stick, we can start. Come.
RUGMINI: Cooking! But I don’t want to …
MRS You can’t deceive me! All those
NANDAN: 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 We have wasted so much time!
DASARATH: 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 What … (As CHITRA pushes her
DASARATH: 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 Chitrangada! What is this bakvaas?

PANDU: 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 Arre! Buddhu kahin ki! You have the
PANDU: 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 I…
DASARATH:
MRS Tum mujhe teach rahi ho? This lady
PANDU: is Mrs Dasarath … Not some

218
 Laavanya, Kaavanya’s
mother-in-law. She is Mrs Dasarath.
MRS I am …
DASARATH:
CHITRA: No, she is not!
MRS I is …
DASARATH:
MRS Yes, she is.
PANDU:
MRS She am …
DASARATH:
CHITRA: No!
MRS Yes … Yes … Yes … Han … Han
PANDU: … Han …
CHITRA: Just because you say a word three
times does not make it legal. Even
the Supreme Court …
MRS I am the Supreme Court!
PANDU:
MRS Please! Please!
DASARATH:
CHITRA: And who has given you that
authority, pray?
MRS Pray karo … aur pray karo! You are
PANDU: a naastik, after all!

219
MRS Please!
DASARATH:
CHITRA: I hold a very responsible intellectual
position.
I am an agnostic.
MRS Han, han … agnostic … non-stick
PANDU: … ek hi hua …
CHITRA: How dare you! How dare you say
such things?
MRS Please! Stop it …
DASARATH:
MRS Tum wohi ho … a frying pan … ek
PANDU: non-stick …
CHITRA: And you are a …
MRS You are a good-for-nothing
PANDU: non-stick jis mein omelette bhi burn
ho jate …
CHITRA: You are a … a …
MRS You bekaar non-stick frying pan!
PANDU:
CHITRA: You are a … a … broken down
aluminium kettle!
MRS A frying pan! Ek non-stick …
PANDU:

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 You are still finding my non-stick?

NANDAN: 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 Mrs Nandan, please tell me this
PANDU: lady’s name. (Points to MRS
DASARATH.)
MRS What are you …
NANDAN:
MRS (Cutting MRS NANDAN.) Why don’t
DASARATH: you ask me for my name? I can tell
you my name. Why are you asking
other people?
MRS What do you mean, other people? I
NANDAN: am other people, is it?
MRS Mrs Dasarath, my great
PANDU: daughter-in-law is a police officer.
Aise waise she won’t accept. She
will say, ‘Witness kidhar hai?’ So …

221
MRS I am other people. How can I be
NANDAN: witness? I don’t know this lady,
abba, I don’t know her at all.
MRS I’m telling you …
DASARATH:
Enter URMILA upstage right.

URMILA: I don’t know where she might have

gone. Chitra, have you seen … my
god!
MRS (Triumphantly.) Ah, look! I have got
DASARATH: 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 Mrs Dasarath, sarcastic hone ki
PANDU: 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 Other people, it seems. Other
NANDAN: people!
Screams from the garden. RADHA and MRS
VASUDEV enter in a terrible rush.

222
RADHA and(Confusedly.) Fire! Smoke! Egg!
MRS Omelette!
VASUDEV:
MRS Saw her from the kitchen window!
VASUDEV:
MRS Kitchen? Fire? Omelette? Oh god,
NANDAN: my non-stick! (Exits upstage left.)
RADHA: Non-stick? Oh god, my non-stick
(Exits upstage left, followed by MRS
VASUDEV.)
MRS (To URMILA.) So you are Mrs
PANDU: Dasarath’s bahu? She has told me
about you. She …
MRS (Quickly.) I have talked so much
DASARATH: 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 What do you mean by that, Mrs
PANDU: Dasarath? Aap kehna kya chahti
hain?
CHITRA sneezes.

MRS (To CHITRA.) My dear, you are

DASARATH: 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 Mrs Dasarath, that is my bahu. If
PANDU: 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 What is she bakoing? I don’t
PANDU: understand even one word. Chalo
Chitra …
MRS (Sweetly.) And I thought you were a
DASARATH: teacher! So sad!
CHITRA: (Sneezing now and then.) Mrs
Dasarath, please don’t use
below-the-belt tactics. According to
the Geneva convention …
MRS You have raised a bilkul thik legal
PANDU: 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 She has burnt my non-stick! Oh, oh,

NANDAN: she has burnt my non-stick. Mrs
Hrimaan, your daughter-in-law has
burnt my non-stick …
MRS But Mrs Nandan, I’m telling you she
HRIMAAN: 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 No! I will buy it. After all, she is my
VASUDEV: 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 Why should I invest in that stupid
VASUDEV: scheme when I have everything I
want in the kitchen? A sandwich
bottom pressure cooker, copper
bottom frying pan, double bottom
saucepan …
MRS And a lazy bottom daughter-in-law!
NANDAN: … 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 Kindly don’t talk of my
VASUDEV: 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 Nothing? You are saying all this that
NANDAN: happened today is nothing?
MRS Bilkul right thing kaha hai aapne Mrs
PANDU: 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 That ‘horrible stuff’ as you put it, my
DASARATH: 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 Why blame my bahu? What about
PANDU: your one? What dirty savaals she
asked me. I feel ashamed just
sochne mein bhi!
MRS And this one does not even know if
NANDAN: 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 A horrible, horrible day! Urmila dear,
DASARATH: 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 And mujhe lagta hai that my

PANDU: 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 But tell me, how did all this happen?

VASUDEV: Before today, nothing like this
happened!
MRS You don’t remember or what? Mrs
NANDAN: Hrimaan wanted us to help her.
MRS Help her to make her
PANDU: daughter-in-law behter! Humph!
MRS (Groaning.) Make her beautiful …
DASARATH:
MRS Teach her cooking! Cooking! Abba!
NANDAN: 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 Oh, so that is what you were doing
NANDAN: 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 Oh, toh tum ascertain kar rahi thi?
PANDU: 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 Arre bete, tum kyo apologise kar
PANDU: 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 I … I … I and Laavanya … Laavanya

HRIMAAN: and I … we were only trying to …
MRS Kya? Trying to do what? Drown us or
PANDU: …

229
MRS Burn us?
NANDAN:
URMILA: Make us a focus for frivolity?
CHITRA: Getting us into a law and order
situation?
MRS Kahiye, Mrs Hrimaan, kya idea tha?
PANDU:
MRS Yes, what was the idea? Tell us.
VASUDEV:
LAAVANYA clutches her head and faints
picturesquely. Total commotion.

MRS Vanya! Oh my god! Vanya!

HRIMAAN:
MRS Water! Paani! Jaldi, jaldi!
PANDU:
RADHA: I will get! (Exits upstage left.)
MRS Put her on the sofa. Carefully!
NANDAN:
CHITRA: Keep her head up! Up!
RUGMINI: Here! Put this cushion under her
head.
MRS She has become so white! Poor
VASUDEV: 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 Ssh! Don’t shout! What is why, han?
PANDU: 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 In the right place, beta! In the bilkul
PANDU: 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 Yes. Yes. You have such good
NANDAN: ideas, Radha. Come, you and I will
make our special halva! Come, let
us start.
RUGMINI: May I come too and watch?
MRS Why only watch? Radha and I will
NANDAN: 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 I will lay the table. Chitra, will you
DASARATH: help me?
CHITRA: Sure! Business! Back to business
everybody.
Mummy, you sit with Laavanya.
MRS Han, han, I will sit here.
PANDU:
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 Let me clear up this place. What a
VASUDEV: 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 (Shouting.) Woh sab kal tha! Kal

PANDU: meaning yesterday.
RADHA: (Shouting.) And today is today, no?
CHITRA: And tomorrow. What about
tomorrow?
MRS I think tomorrow is going to be really
DASARATH: cute.
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 Herbert Paul
Flute Hema Choksi
Keyboard Lawrence
Preetam Koilpillai
Vocal Shalini Subramaniam
PercussionVivek Menzel
Costumes Vidya Appaiah
Marianne Jacobie
Production Nirupa
management
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.

268
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. She looks brighter, more
confident.

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.

278
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.

280
SARALA: (Giggles.) Oh Raghu. You are
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
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, the
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
 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 forgetting your
attendance register.
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.

284
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 it sir! That’s the
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
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 beauty’s grace, and
virtue’s store,
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. Sixteenth century.
Before your time.
RAGHU: Is that what you think?
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, nothing but

memories,
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, nothing but
memories.
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 think she is very
beautiful.
IYER: (Aloof once more.) I do not see the
connection.

317
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.

328
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.

329
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

330
 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

331
 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.

332
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?

333
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 …

334
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.

335
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 … I love thee with the breath,
VOICE-OVER:
Smiles and tears, of all my life!
— and if
God choose,
I shall but love thee better after
death.
Spot on IYER.

Blackout.

336
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?

337
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.

338
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.

339
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

340
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?

341
 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.

342
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.

343
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.

344
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.

346
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.

348
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.

352
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.

354
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.

355
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.

356
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.

357
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

361
 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

365
 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

368
 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.

369
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

372
 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

373
 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 who sees
everything. Bye, my love.
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

375
 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.

376
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

377
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

378
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,

379
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.

381
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.

382
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.

383
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.

384
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
…

385
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.

386
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.

387
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 you. I have high

connections.
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 do you know what
happened?
MAN: And you were there.
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 … the
goddess of desire ….
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 hurt me,
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
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?

421
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 always your problem.
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,

422
 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 you represent the
underdog.
MAN: Look here …
WOMAN: Who was Shoorpanakha?
MAN: A bitch.
WOMAN: A woman.
MAN: A demoness.
WOMAN: Why do you call her that? A
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.
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.

433
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

434
In order of appearance

ARRAH : a middle-aged woman

MATI : a middle-aged woman

SAMARA : a mute twenty-year-old

woman

: 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 a woman of about thirty

SABAH

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 So what time is it? (Louder.) What time?

MAN: 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 So that is why water came. So we can

WOMAN: wash our face and then cry.
SECOND Widow is widow. Like us. What she can
WOMAN: do?
FIRST Ohohoho! She is like us you are
WOMAN: 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 Ay! You bedwetter! You drunk! What
WOMAN: 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 Cut! Cut! Let me see.
WOMAN:
FIRST In our country, only Thandwai can cut
WOMAN: tongue.
The others in the crowd try to shush her glancing at
ARRAH and SAMARA.

FIRST Why I must keep silent? She knows

WOMAN: … 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 day I will
personally kill you.

456
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 … extremely
important news …
PRINCESS: Well?
HAMUN: (Hesitates.) For the Thandwai.
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 and
continues to hesitate.)
THANDWAI: Sabah, please leave … Deyeth.
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 your father his

medicine.
PRINCESS SABAH continues to hum the song.

THANDWAI: Will you come inside?

463
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 (Dancing around.)
MAN:
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 history (Laughs
uproariously.)
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 (Shouts.) Shut up, you.
MAN:

466
DEAF … moment upon moment upon
MAN: moment up …
BLIND (Sitting up.) Can’t anyone stop the
MAN: fool?
DEAF … on moment upon moment upon
MAN: 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 speaking
Kurubiri. Can he do that?

467
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 Is anybody writing all this down? Or am I

MAN: 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 I suppose I have to leave you to it

MAN: 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 You think conspiracies are all political,
MAN: 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 (Chuckling.) That’s exactly what every
MAN: civilisation says.
HAMUN: That’s true. We discovered him.
BLIND That’s what every historian says.
MAN:
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 Moment upon moment upon mom …

MAN:
BLIND (Roars.) SHUT UP!
MAN:
DEAF (Dancing.) Moment upon moment upon
MAN: 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 Now. Do you have a pen that writes? Give

MAN: 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 (Dictating.) No historian can accurately
MAN: 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. I mean, no,
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 a large
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.
The THANDWAI laughs uproariously.

484
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 In the dark and mire of politics, one
MAN: 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 Help me.
A:

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 … of shame … or whether it is the
MAN: 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 Election what will happen?
MAN:
FIRST They will have afterward …. How you
MAN: can have election now?
A A brother is dead … a sister, her eyes
WOMAN: are crying blood and you are thinking of
election?
SECOND I have to eat, no? Posters I was making
MAN: for election …

503
FIRST Bringing people from villages I was
MAN: doing.
Getting money per ten ten person …
SECOND Election time is good time for money.
MAN: Now what will happen?
A But nobody is saying who is killing. You
WOMAN: 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 About election she did not say

MAN: anything.
A (Suddenly.) Go and ask! Go! Ask why
WOMAN: no election and what she is making for
food today …. Go and ask.

505
SECOND Ay! Why you are getting so angry? Ay!
MAN:
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 and seven
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
 get dressed for the bloody
mourning.
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 hear? (Almost collapses
laughing.)
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 Tcchah!
MAN:
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 What a woman! Did you hear the
MAN: 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 Why? You think her eyes should be
MAN: white?

512
A WOMAN: Ay! Do not make quarrel with me …
Warning
I am giving you …
Pause.

FIRST You are hearing some strange news?

MAN:
SECOND About election?
MAN:
A Oh, you shut your mouth. Tell your
WOMAN: news, brother.
FIRST You know that Wokha?
MAN:
SECOND Wokha?
MAN:
FIRST They are saying he only killed Prince.
MAN:
A Such things who can tell?
WOMAN:
FIRST They are telling he got money to kill
MAN: Prince.
A Wokha, Gandava … old friends they
WOMAN: are. Now look where Gandava is …
FIRST Wokha is also rich man now … very
MAN: rich man …

513
A What you are saying, brother?
WOMAN:
The CROWD gets into a huddle and the FIRST
MAN whispers something.

A No … No … I am not believing …
WOMAN:
FIRST Why you are not believing? You have
MAN: not heard old stories our grandmothers
are
telling about kings and queens? How
father kills son and sister kills brother?
SECOND But now we are having election … not
MAN: king and queen …
A I am not believing … I am not believing
WOMAN: … 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 (Suddenly.) I don’t like this place. Let’s

MAN: go away.
BLIND Go where? You think a historian can
MAN: choose where to go?
DEAF This is an ugly place … a foul place …
MAN:

514
BLIND I agree …. But every swamp has a tale
MAN: to tell …
The DEAF MAN begins to gather the ledgers and
put them together.

DEAF I don’t like this place … it’s a foul place …

MAN: 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.

517
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
…

518
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 dead. Her daughter

poisoned her.
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.

519
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.

520
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 contacted at
poile.sengupta@gmail.com.

521