Plays 5

by Tom Stoppard

  Mrs Swan By the way, what were your father’s beliefs?

  Anish (surprised) Why … we are Hindu …

  Mrs Swan You said he had suffered for his beliefs.

  Anish Oh. I meant his opinions.

  Mrs Swan How did he suffer?

  Anish He was put in prison.

  Mrs Swan Really? By whom?

  Anish Well, by you.

  Mrs Swan By me? Oh … by us. But how did we know what his opinions were?

  Anish It seems he took part in some actions against the Raj during the Empire Day celebrations in Jummapur.

  Mrs Swan Then he was put in prison for his actions, not his opinions, Mr Das, and obviously deserved what he got. Will you have a slice of cake?

  Anish Thank you.

  Mrs Swan Victoria sponge or Battenberg?

  Anish Oh …

  Mrs Swan The sponge is my own, raspberry jam included.

  Anish I would love some … thank you.

  Mrs Swan Tea? But all that must have been before you were born.

  Anish Oh, yes, I was the child of my father’s second marriage. I was born long after Independence, and my father went to prison in Jummapur in 1930.

  Mrs Swan 1930! But that was when Flora was in Jummapur!

  Anish Yes, I know. That is why I am here.

  Mrs Swan administers tea. Flora takes the cap off her fountain pen.

  Flora Are we friends this morning?

  Das I hope so! Why do you ask that? Has something happened?

  Flora Oh. No.

  She laughs. He frowns, painting.

  Well, I thought if we’re friends I’ll ask you to write something on the drawing you did of me. (She produces the pencil sketch.)

  Das Oh, but that was only a poor scribble! Not even a good likeness!

  Flora Even so.

  Das Oh. (He is taken aback but then realizes he is being teased. He laughs.)

  Flora Yes, you won’t get anywhere with that.

  Nazrul, the servant, brings a jug of fresh lemonade and two glasses, which he puts on the table.

  Namby pani time!

  Nazrul Nimbupani!

  Flora (getting up) Thank you, Nazrul … Shukriya!

  Nazrul responds and leaves.

  Das Actually, I have something for you, a little present.

  Flora Have you? You mustn’t keep giving me things, Mr Das!

  Das Well, it is a kind of birthday present, you see.

  Flora Especially not birthday presents when it isn’t my birthday.

  Das gives her an old but well-preserved book. It is green with a brown spine. In fact it is a copy of Up the Country by Emily Eden (1866).

  Das I did not buy it, it is a book of my father’s which I would like you to have. Letters by an English lady travelling in India a hundred years ago.

  Flora (truly pleased) Oh, but this will be just my book! Thank you! Up the Country … Emily Eden. Oh, it’s a lovely present!

  Das Well … I will write, ‘To remind you of Jummapur and your friend and fellow artist Nirad Das’. And I will draw myself listening to you.

  Flora pours the nimbupani. Das writes on the pencil drawing with his own fountain pen, and settles down to draw her.

  Anish When my father met Flora Crewe he had been a widower for several years, although he was still quite a young man, younger than her, yes, the beginning of the Hot Weather in 1930 … he had his 34th birthday on April 2nd, just after he met your sister. He had lost his wife to cholera and he was childless. I knew nothing of my father’s life before me. In my earliest memory, my father was an old gentleman who spoke very little except when he sometimes read aloud to me. He liked to read in English. Robert Browning, Tennyson, Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome, and Dickens, of course …

  Mrs Swan How surprising.

  Anish Oh yes – he went from a vernacular school to Elphinstone College in Bombay, and you only have to look at Elphinstone College to see that it was built to give us a proper English education.

  Mrs Swan I meant, in view of his ‘opinions’. But I spoke without thinking. Your father took part in actions against the British Raj and loved English literature, which was perfectly consistent of him.

  Anish (laughs) Usually, the education succeeded admirably! In Jummapur we were ‘loyal’ as you would say, we had been loyal to the British right through the first War of Independence.

  Mrs Swan The …? What war was that?

  Anish The Rising of 1857.

  Mrs Swan Oh, you mean the Mutiny. What did you call it?

  Anish Dear Mrs Swan, Imperial history is merely … no, no – I promise you I didn’t come to give you a history lesson.

  Mrs Swan You seem ill-equipped to do so. We were your Romans, you know. We might have been your Normans.

  Anish And did you expect us to be grateful?

  Mrs Swan That’s neither here nor there. I don’t suppose I’d have been grateful if a lot of Romans turned up and started laying down the law and teaching Latin and so forth. ‘What a cheek,’ is probably what I would have thought. ‘Go away, and take your roads and your baths with you.’ It doesn’t matter what I would have thought. It’s what I think now that matters. You speak English better than most young people I meet. Did you go to school here?

  Anish No, I went to a convent school in … You are spreading a net for me, Mrs Swan!

  Mrs Swan What net would that be? Have some more cake.

  Anish Mrs Swan, you are a very wicked woman. You advance a preposterous argument and try to fill my mouth with cake so I cannot answer you. I will resist you and your cake. We were the Romans! We were up to date when you were a backward nation. The foreigners who invaded you found a third-world country! Even when you discovered India in the age of Shakespeare, we already had our Shakespeares. And our science – architecture – our literature and art, we had a culture older and more splendid, we were rich! After all, that’s why you came.

  But he has misjudged.

  Mrs Swan (angrily) We made you a proper country! And when we left you fell straight to pieces like Humpty Dumpty! Look at the map! You should feel nothing but shame!

  Anish Oh, yes … I am a guest here and I have been …

  Mrs Swan (calming down) No, only provocative. Will you be going home?

  Anish (bewildered) I … would you like me to go?

  Mrs Swan (equally bewildered) No. What do you mean?

  Anish (understanding) Oh – home! I didn’t mean I was a guest in England. England is my home now. I have spent half my life here. I married here.

  Mrs Swan An English girl?

  Anish Yes. We met at art school.

  Mrs Swan (approvingly) Artists together.

  Anish Actually she was not a student, she was earning money as a model. Life class, you see.

  Mrs Swan Of course. Is she still your model?

  Anish No. My work is not figurative now.

  Mrs Swan What is it now?

  Anish Well, deconstructive.

  Mrs Swan What a shame.

  Anish I can still draw if I wish. May I draw you?

  Mrs Swan Oh no, the last thing I need –

  Anish No, for myself.

  Mrs Swan Oh. Why?

  Anish Only a little sketch with a pencil. We must not resist when life strives to close one of its many circles!

  Mrs Swan Is that Hinduism?

  Anish Oh … I don’t know. Perhaps.

  Mrs Swan Well, it sounds very east of Suez. All right then. You may draw me.

  Anish It will make us friends.

  Anish takes an artist’s block from his briefcase and begins to draw her

  Flora and Das sit at the table with lemonade.

  Flora While having tiffin on the verandah of my bungalow I spilled kedgeree on my dungarees and had to go to the gymkhana in my pyjamas looking like a coolie.

  Das I was buying chutney in the bazaar when a thug escaped from the choky and killed a box-wallah for his loot, creating a hullabaloo and landing himself in the mulligatawny.

>   Flora I went doolally at the durbar and was sent back to Blighty in a dooley feeling rather dikki with a cup of char and a chit for a chotapeg.

  Das Yes, and the burra sahib who looked so pukka in his topee sent a coolie to the memsahib –

  Flora No, no. You can’t have memsahib and sahib, that’s cheating – and anyway I’ve already said coolie.

  Das I concede, Miss Crewe. You are the Hobson-Jobson champion!

  Flora You are chivalrous, Mr Das. So I’ll confess I had help. I found a whole list of Anglo-Indian words in my bedside drawer, for the benefit of travellers.

  Das But I know both languages, so you still win on handicap.

  Flora Where did you learn everything, Mr Das?

  Das From books. I like Dickens and Browning, and Shakespeare, of course – but my favourite is Agatha Christie! The Mysterious Affair at Styles! – oh, the woman is a genius! But I would like to write like Macaulay.

  Flora Oh dear.

  Das I have to thank Lord Macaulay for English, you know. It was his idea when he was in the government of India that English should be taught to us all. He wanted to supply the East India Company with clerks, but he was sowing dragon’s teeth. Instead of babus he produced lawyers, journalists, civil servants, he produced Gandhi! We have so many, many languages, you know, that English is the only language the nationalists can communicate in! That is a very good joke on Macaulay, don’t you think?

  Flora Are you a nationalist, Mr Das?

  Das (lightly) Ah, that is a very interesting question! But we shouldn’t have stopped all this time. It’s getting late for you, I must work more quickly tomorrow.

  Flora It’s only half-past ten.

  Das No, it’s already April, and that is becoming late.

  Flora Yes, it seems hotter than ever. Would you like some more lemonade?

  Das No, thank you, no lemonade. Miss Crewe, you haven’t looked at my painting yet.

  Flora No. Not yet. I never look. Do you mind?

  Das No.

  Flora You do really. But I once asked a painter ‘Can I look?’ and he said, ‘Why? When I paint a table I don’t have to show it to the table.’

  Das I said you had been painted before.

  Flora Only once.

  Das A portrait?

  Flora Not in the way you mean. It was a nude.

  Das Oh.

  Flora Unusually. He painted his friends clothed. For nudes he used models. I believe I was his friend. But perhaps not. Perhaps a used model only. It hardly matters. He was dead so soon afterwards. (Pause.) He was not so kind to me as you are.

  Das Do you have the painting?

  Flora No.

  Das Where is it?

  Flora Nowhere. A man I thought I might marry burned it. My goodness, what a red-letter day you are having. There’s a man on a horse.

  We have already heard the horse. We do not see the horse.

  Durance (offstage) Good morning! Miss Crewe, I think!

  Flora (standing up) Yes – good morning! (to Das) Do you know him?

  Das He is the Assistant.

  Durance (offstage) May I get down a moment?

  Flora Of course. What a beautiful animal! ((to Das) Assistant what?

  Das (to Flora) Captain Durance!

  Durance Thank you!

  Flora Come on up, do join us.

  Durance arrives on foot.

  Durance Oh – it’s Mr Das, isn’t it?

  Das Good morning, sir. But we have never met.

  Durance Oh, but I know you. And Miss Crewe, your fame precedes you.

  Flora Thank you … and you …

  Durance I’m from the Residency. David Durance.

  Flora (shaking hands) How do you do?

  Durance Oh, but look here – I’m interrupting the artist.

  Flora We had stopped.

  Durance May one look? Oh, I say! Coming along jolly well! Don’t you think so, Miss Crewe?

  Das I must be going. I have overstayed my time today.

  Flora But we’ll continue tomorrow?

  Das Yes. Perhaps a little earlier if it suits you. I can leave everything …

  Das prepares to remove the canvas from the easel.

  Flora Why don’t you leave the canvas too? It will be quite safe.

  Das (hesitates) Yes, all right … I have a drape for it. Thank you.

  He drapes a cloth over the canvas on the easel.

  Flora Like shutting up the parrot for the night.

  Das There we are. Thank you for the lemonade, Miss Crewe. An absolute treat. I promise you! Goodbye, sir – and – yes – and until tomorrow … (He goes down the verandah steps and wheels his bicycle away.)

  Flora Yes … goodbye! (to Durance) I’ll put my shoes on. Sorry about my toes, but I like to wriggle them when I’m working.

  Durance I’ll only stay a moment. My chief asked me to look in. Just to make sure there’s nothing we can do for you.

  Flora Would you like some lemonade?

  Durance No, nothing for me. Really. We might have found you more comfortable quarters, you know, not quite so in-the-town.

  Flora How did you know I was here?

  Durance Now, there’s a point. Usually we know of arrivals because the first thing they do is drop in a card but in your case … rumours in the bazaar, so to speak. Are you an old hand here, Miss Crewe?

  Flora No, I’ve never been to India before. I came up from Bombay just a few days ago.

  Durance But you have friends here, perhaps?

  Flora No. I got on a ship and I came, knowing no-one. I have friends in England who have friends here. Actually, one friend.

  Durance In Jummapur, this friend?

  Flora No – the friend – my friend – is in London, of course; Mr Joshua Chamberlain. His friends are in different places in Rajputana, and I will also be going to Delhi and then up to the Punjab, I hope.

  Durance Now I see. And your friend in London has friends in Jummapur.

  Flora Yes.

  Durance Like Mr Das?

  Flora No. Are you a policeman of some kind, Mr Durance?

  Durance Me? No. I’m sorry if I sound like one.

  Flora Well, you do a bit. I’m travelling with letters of introduction to a number of social clubs and literary societies. I speak on the subject of ‘Literary Life in London’, in return for board and lodging … So you see I couldn’t have taken advantage of your kindness without giving offence to my hosts.

  Durance The game is different here. By putting up at the Residency you would have gained respect, not lost it.

  Flora Thank you, but what about self-respect?

  Durance Well … as long as all is well. So you are following in Chamberlain’s footsteps. All is explained.

  Flora I don’t think I explained it. But yes, I am. He spoke in Jummapur three years ago, on the subject of Empire.

  Durance Yes. Is he a good friend?

  Flora Well …

  Durance Did you know he was some sort of Communist?

  Flora I thought he might be. He stood twice for Parliament as the Communist candidate.

  Durance (unoffended, pleasant as before) I amuse you. That’s all right, amusing our distinguished visitors is among my duties.

  Flora Well, don’t be so stuffy.

  Durance How long will you be with us?

  Flora I’m expected in Jaipur but they don’t mind when I come.

  Durance I’m sure you’ll have a marvellous time. There are wonderful things to see. Meanwhile, please consider yourself an honorary member of the Club – mention my name, but I’ll put you in the book.

  Flora Thank you.

  Durance Well …

  He offers his hand and she shakes it.

  Flora Call again, if you like. I wish I had a lump of sugar for your horse. Next time.

  Durance He’s my main indulgence. I wish I’d been here when a good horse went with the job.

  Flora Yes … what is your job? You mentioned your chief.

  Durance The Resident. He
represents the government here.

  Flora The British government?

  Durance Delhi. The Viceroy, in fact. Jummapur is not British India … you understand that?

  Flora Yes … but it’s all the Empire, isn’t it?

  Durance Oh yes. Absolutely. But there’s about five hundred Rajahs and Maharajahs and Nabobs and so on who run bits of it, well, nearly half of it, actually, by treaty. And we’re here to make sure they don’t get up to mischief.

  Flora I knew you were a kind of policeman.

  Durance laughs and goes down the steps of the verandah. He hesitates shyly.

  Durance Miss Crewe, would you have dinner with us while you are here?

  Flora With you and your wife, do you mean?

  Durance No … at the Club. Us. With me. I don’t run to a wife, I’m afraid. But do come. We’re a reasonably civilized lot, and there’s usually dancing on Saturdays, only a gramophone but lots of fun.

  Flora I’d love to. On Saturday, then.

  Durance Oh … splendid! I’ll come by.

  Flora I haven’t got a horse, you know.

  Durance We have a Daimler at the Residency. I’ll see if I can wangle it. Pick you up about eight?

  Flora Yes.

  Durance We don’t dress, normally, except on dress nights. (Laughs at himself.) Obviously.

  Flora I’ll be ready.

  Durance Jolly good.

  He exits and mounts the horse, which snorts.

  Flora Goodbye!

  Durance (offstage) Goodbye!

  Flora (calling out) Wangle the Daimler!

  Flora waves and turns aside. She sits at her table and starts to write. Anish is drawing Mrs Swan.

  Mrs Swan But Jummapur was a Native State.

  Anish Yes.

  Mrs Swan So we didn’t put your father in gaol.

  Anish (politely dissenting) Ah well …

  Mrs Swan (firmly) Whatever your father may have done, the Resident would have had no authority to imprison an Indian. The Rajah of Jummapur had his own justice.

  Anish Ah, but His Highness the Rajah …

  Mrs Swan Oh, I’m not saying we wouldn’t have boxed his ears and sent him packing if he forgot which side his bread was buttered, but facts are facts. The Rajah put your father in the choky. How long for, by the way?

  Anish Six months.

  Mrs Swan There you are. In British India he would have got a year at least. After the War it may have been different. With Independence round the corner, people were queuing up to go to prison, it was their ticket to the top. They’d do their bit of civil disobedience and hop into the paddy-waggon thoroughly pleased with themselves. Eric – that’s my husband – would let them off with a small fine if he thought they were Johnny-come-latelies, and they’d be furious. That was when Eric had his District. We were right up near Nepal …