Receptionist : I may sound very stupid but I do not understand this logic of kill the killer
Maharaja : Let me explain. If I were to go out into the jungle now and say, ‘Shri Man-eaterjee, I love you,’ would it make him change his mind? What good would it do to anyone except the man-eater?
Receptionist : That’s different, it’s the law of the jungle.
Maharaja : Precisely! One nation produces a new kind of bomb, a man-eating bomb. What is its neighbouring nation to do except to produce a bigger man-eating bomb? It’s the same, the law of the jungle.
Receptionist : And so we go on.
Maharaja : So we go on—from stones to spears, from bow and arrow to blunderbuss and bundook, from Big Berthas to doodle-bugs, from supersonic bombers to intercontinental ballistic missiles with megaton load of bomb-heads to devastate an entire country. That’s how we’ll go on. [Mrs Schneiderman appear at the back and listens]
Receptionist : No, Your Highness, that is not how we will go on. We are at the end of our road.
Mrs Schneiderman : [Coming forward] I heard that anti-American talk. We are Americans and proud of being American. [Receptionist and Maharaja stand up]
Receptionist : Do sit down.
Maharaja : We were not criticizing your country, Mrs Schneiderman. We were not criticizing any country. We were talking of the doom of the world.
Mrs Schneiderman : That’s fine. It’s not right to criticize the United States for everything that happens. We feed half the hungry people of the world, you know.
Maharaja : Quite right, Mrs Schneiderman. You have much to be proud of. Tell me, have you any views on man-eating?
Mrs Schneiderman : Really, Your Highness! What an odd question! You mean to ask me if I approve or disapprove of cannibalism? As an American citizen, I’d say I am definitely against it.
Receptionist : [Laughing] His Highness has an odd way of putting things. He meant if you have any views on what to do with man-eating tigers.
Mrs Schneiderman : Don’t tell me a big, brave Maharaja like you is scared of over-sized pussy cats!
Maharaja : As a matter of fact I am. That’s why I came out of my room—looking for company and comfort. Isn’t that why you came here too, Mrs Schneiderman?
Mrs Schneiderman : [Laughing nervously] That’s right. Why, every time that darned tiger growls, it scares the daylight out of me. Yasmeen dear—your name is Yasmeen, isn’t it? You must be an awfully brave girl to live alone in a place like this. Doesn’t it frighten you?
Receptionist : I am terrified. I came down to talk to the Commissionaire. But he—just look at him.
Mrs Schneiderman : He’s worse than my Alfie. Alfie at least snores to let you know he’s there—and alive.
[Commissionaire snores]
He’s alive all right. Men are so insensitive. Begging your pardon, Your Highness.
Maharaja : Not at all, Mrs Schneiderman. Women are naturally more concerned when the lives of their children and their children’s children are in danger.
Mrs Schneiderman : Now look at this situation. Here we are in the heart of a thick jungle, zillions of miles away from civilization, we are surrounded by wild beasts thirsting for our blood—the men sleep through, the only two women in the place are the only ones really concerned.
Maharaja : More scared than concerned Mrs Schneiderman.
Mrs Schneiderman : Put it any way you like. But it does make you think why the world is in such a mess.
Maharaja : I do not understand you.
Mrs Schneiderman : What I mean is this, if you men were really concerned about the world, you would do something about it. There are these Russians with their bombs floating about space; they could drop them anywhere they liked and kill millions of people.
Maharaja : I am told your own people have as many if not more missiles than the Russians.
Mrs Schneiderman : Sure we have! We have to, haven’t we? We are a responsible people. But there are all these others—Russians and Chinese, English and French—and soon even Canadians and Indians and may be Arabs, bang, bang, and the show is over. What do you think men are doing about it? Making more bombs.
Receptionist : How right you are, Mrs Schneiderman. It’s like getting tiger cubs from a zoo, training them to be killers and letting them loose in the city.
Mrs Schneiderman : Exactly! Like here—man-eater prowling about and look at that man!
[Commissionaire snores . . . ]
Maharaja : His peace of mind comes from experience. He knows that a man-eater who has just made a kill will not make another for some days.
Mrs Schneiderman : There’s my Alfie, snoring without a care in the world.
Maharaja : Perhaps he hasn’t even heard of the man-eater. He doesn’t know how close we are to it. When it comes to fears, the ignorant are as well off as the knowledgeable. It’s the in-betweens who suffer.
Mrs Schneiderman : Your Highness is a philosopher.
Maharaja : Mrs Schneiderman, please do not address me like that. My name is Vijay—my friends calls me Bijjoo, the badger. I am not a philosopher. All I know is that if I went into the jungle and told this man-eater, ‘I am His Highness the Maharaja of Shamnagar, please go away from here,’ he would use some four-letter growl and tell me to buzz off. [Mathur appears at the back] He might have a little more respect for a real ruler, someone like our director of tourism.
Mathur : What were you saying about me?
Maharaja : We were wondering whether you as representative of the Government of India could go into the jungle and order the man-eater to go away.
Mathur : Maharaja Sahib has a strange sense of humour.
Maharaja : That is all that your government has left me with, Mr Mathur.
Mrs Schneiderman : Don’t tell me, Mr Mathoor, you too are scared?
Mathur : Scared? Scared of what? I was working. You see I have so many files to dispose of and so many reports to write. When I am in station I never go to bed before midnight. When I am on tour I always bring work with me. I heard your voices and came down to see if all is well. You see, Mrs Schneiderman, I am responsible for your safety.
Maharaja : We are in safe hands, Mrs Schneiderman. As long as we stay in and barricade ourselves in Mr Mathur’s hotel, we are assured by him that we will come to no harm. His guarantee does not extend into the realm of danger—the jungle.
Mathur : In the morning I’ll get the police to organize a hunt for this man-eater. We will deal with the danger in the most appropriate way. We may need the co-operation of all the men—the shikari over there as well as yours, Maharaja Sahib. In your time, you must have killed many tigers.
Maharaja : I have never killed one, Mr Mathur, I do not know how they are killed, nor do I intend learning the art of killing. But I am willing to join any party under your command. Perhaps I can be with the beaters and shout Ho, ho.
Mathur : We’ll see, we’ll see. I don’t suppose that English boy will be any good.
Maharaja : He does not look as if he had ever fired anything more powerful than a pop-gun.
Mrs Schneiderman : I don’t care very much for the hippie types. We’ve a bunch of them back home; burning draft cards, taking drugs—just running away from every responsibility. What is the world coming to?
Maharaja : Chaos. That’s what it is coming to, Mrs Schneiderman . . . chaos. If the brave new world is to be peopled with long-haired psychedelics, what can you expect.
Receptionist : Sir, Mr Conran-Smith is not a bad man. He only wants to be left alone in peace.
Mrs Schneiderman : I don’t mean to be harsh, my dear, but this business of wanting to be alone to smoke pot . . .
Maharaja : And make love to anyone and everyone he can . . .
Mathur : That’s very immoral.
Maharaja : And very inappropriate in a time like this.
Mrs Schneiderman : Doesn’t sound very nice, does it? Let’s not be too hard on the poor boy. May be he has his own point of view and his own philosophy of life. Well,
I am going to turn in and try to get some sleep.
Maharaja : Me too. Goodnight.
Mathur : I suggest we all get some rest so that we can put the best of ourselves tomorrow. Goodnight.
Maharaja : Goodnight everyone. Sleep well.
Receptionist : Goodnight, sir, goodnight, Madam. I’ll turn down the lights after you have got to your rooms.
[Exit everyone except Receptionist. She dims the lights, lights a cigarette and fiddles with the tape-recorder. A little rewinding, then Conran-Smiths voice comes over clearly, reciting:]
Love wakes men once a life-time each
They lift their heavy lids and look
And lo what one sweet page can teach
They read with joy, then shut the book,
And some give thanks and some blaspheme
But most forget. But either way
That and the child’s unheeded dream
Is all the joy of all their day.
Act Two
(Time: Next morning.
Scene: Same as before. The Commissionaire and the Receptionist are at their respective places—he sitting on the ground, she making entries in book. The bearer’s dusting chairs, tables, emptying ashtrays, etc.)
Commissionaire : What a night that was! I wish I could do in the mother of that bastard tiger. Did you get any sleep, Miss Sahibji?
Receptionist : If you had gone visiting the tiger’s mother, I might have had some sleep. Sardool Singh, it was not the roaring of the tiger that kept me awake, it was your snoring. How you could have slept through all the turmoil is beyond me.
Commissionaire : I am an old shikari. I know that a tiger who has made a kill will not hurt anyone else for many days. Not unless someone tries to rob him of his kill or pull his tail. Did you know that, Miss Sahibji?
Receptionist : No, I did not. But knowing it would not have made any difference. It’s the thought of a woman lying dead not far from us—and the danger. No one got much sleep except you and that fat old American Sahib.
Commissionaire : [After a pause] Miss Sahibji, that bearded Englishman, the one you said is a little mad, is he an old friend of your family?
Receptionist : [Looking up] No, I told you I met him a few weeks ago when I was working in an airways company. Why do you ask?
Commissionaire : For no reason at all, Miss Sahibji. He acts as if he had known you a long time.
Receptionist : I don’t know what you mean . . . [Guests come out from dining-room talking loudly. Commissionaire stands up and salutes]
Mr Schneiderman : Never slept better in my life. Gimme the fresh air of the Indian jungle. No horns honking beep, beep . . . no roar of jets going whoosh. The great silence of a primeval forest, and bird-song to rouse me. Boy, it’s good to be alive: Allah’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world. Cigar anyone? First of the day after breakfast tastes best. [Only Mathur accepts]
Mrs Schneiderman : How selfish can you be, Alfie? You are the only one who got any sleep. The rest of us were up most of the night. We were worried to death, weren’t we Mr Mathoor?
Mathur : [Nodding towards the Commissionaire] Our guardian angel also slept through. The tiger could have devoured all of us without disturbing his sleep. Miss Ahmed, you must make a formal report of his conduct. For a watchman to sleep is grave dereliction of duty.
Maharaja : Why not institute a committee of inquiry? Terms of reference, conduct in face of danger. I take it, Mr Mathur, you deported yourself as befits a senior official of the Government of India is expected to?
Mathur : [Sharply] My conduct is not in question, Your Highness. I have to see that no one comes to harm. That is why we employ a watchman.
Maharaja : Then you must order the detention of Mr Conran-Smith. He did wilfully and with intent scheme to go out into the jungle at night to do himself mischief. What about that?
Mr Schneiderman : [Imitating British accent] Did you really, Connie old boy! Whatever for?
Conran-Smith : [Imitating American accent] Yeah! To see whadda man-eater does to a dead dame.
Mr Schneiderman : I’ll be damned!
Mathur : A very odd subject for investigation, if I may say so, Mr Conran-Smith.
Conran-Smith : You may say so, Mr Mathur, you may. We have our own ambitions. You no doubt hope to be the first Mathur to be the secretary of a department. My ambitions are more modest. One is to record the growl of the man-eater. So I can tell the world what he sounds like when he is on the rampage.
Mr Schneiderman : I don’t doubt your other ambitions are just as crazy.
Conran-Smith : Even crazier, Mr Schneiderman. The only other ambition I have is to be the first man to sleep with a woman in an aeroplane.
Maharaja : A most laudable and unique ambition! You may however find that with so many planes flying empty, some slick captain or radio engineer or purser or steward may have pulled off the trick with a pliant air-hostess. You may not be the first atop a woman at 30,000 feet.
Conran-Smith : Then I will be content to take the second or even third place. I may even settle for a grounded air-hostess.
Mrs Schneiderman : I don’t approve of this kind of loose talk in front of a young lady; it’s not nice.
Receptionist : Please don’t let my presence bother you, Mrs Schneiderman. I have had to put up with much worse in mixed company.
Conran-Smith : I do not tailor my talk to suit the sex of my audience.
Maharaja : Freedom for the four-letter word Freedom from cant and humbug.
Mr Schneiderman : I don’t know what you fellers are talking about. I want to know what we’re gonna do today. If we can’t go out into the jungle to see them wild animals, we may as well get back home and see them in a zoo. We’ve got a big one in Milwaukee.
Mathur : That’s not the same thing, Mr Schneiderman. [Turning to the receptionist] Miss Ahmed, ring up the police station and ask them if it is safe to go out in the daytime.
Receptionist : Yes, sir. [Plugs switch-board]
Mathur : Mr Schneiderman, our ancients have wisely said that most human tears are imaginary, we mistake a rope for a serpent and panic.
Maharaja : Our ancients may have been right, Mr Mathur. But take it from me, if you picked up a serpent by the tail believing it to be a rope, the result may not be very pleasant.
Mr Schneiderman : I never understand anything you Indians say.
Conran-Smith : Mr Schneiderman, Indians have a genius for making simple things sound very complicated. My father who served in India for forty long years used to say that the Indians’ mind is like a cork-screw.
Mr Schneiderman : That’s not a very nice thing to say—in the middle of India.
Mathur : The British hated India and Indians.
Conran-Smith : Not India, Mr Mathur—and not all Indians either. My father (may his soul rest in peace) used to say, give me the Indian peasant—and you can have the half-baked university babu and the civil servant on his dirty chapatti! As a matter of fact, my father used very strange language, unfit for ladies’ ears. He used to describe the educated Indians as ‘arrogant little bottom-licking wogs’.
Mrs Schneiderman : Mr Conran-Smith! How absolutely outrageous! How can you . . .
Receptionist : [Interrupting] Excuse me, Madam . . . sir, it’s the police station. They say they have no further information of the whereabouts of the man-eater except that he is somewhere in the vicinity of the hotel and if we go out, we will do so on our own responsibility.
Mathur : [Very sharply] Who says so? Tell the inspector I want to speak to him. Tell him who I am.
Receptionist : Yes, sir. [Turns to phone]
Maharaja : Spell it out—Shri A.N. Mathur, Joint Secretary of the Government of India.
Conran-Smith : Go tell it to the tiger. It might impress him.
Receptionist : Sir, the inspector is on leave. They say today is a holiday.
Maharaja : How wise! The wisdom of our new rulers never ceases to amaze me. They have devised so many holy days and holidays, and other
occasions such as deaths of ministers and other VIPs as reasons for celebration, that now we can have 367 days of the year away from the dull routine of office.
Conran-Smith : All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy. A British legacy most cherished by the Indians. [Bows to the Maharaja]
Maharaja : [Returning the bow] What foresight your honoured parents must have had to give you the name Jack!
Conran-Smith : [Laughing] Touché.
Mathur : This may be a laughing matter to you gentlemen, it is not for me. I have certain responsibilities.
Conran-Smith : So have all of us, Mr Mathur. We can’t sit in this lobby for ever wasting time in idle gossip—or smoking Mr Schneiderman’s Havana cigars. Let us venture forth into the jungle—on our own responsibility, as the policeman said. [Stands up]
Mathur : It is dangerous, Mr Conran-Smith.
Conran-Smith : I know.
Mr Schneiderman : You must be crazy.
Conran-Smith : All the world’s crazy; I am only a little bit crazier.
Mrs Schneiderman : That’s not a nice thing to say.
Conran-Smith : I am not a nice man, Mrs Schneiderman.
Maharaja : You are just trying to show off.
Conran-Smith : That is also true. [Puts tape-recorder on shoulder and moves towards exit] Well, adios, amigos. [Turning to Mr Schneiderman] See you later, alligator.
Receptionist : [Stands in his way] Don’t be silly, Jack.
Conran-Smith : I take it you desire my company.
Receptionist : All right. I desire your company. Be a good boy and sit down.
Conran-Smith : [Shrugs shoulder and goes back to his chair] Maybe I’ll accept one of your Havana cigars after all.
Maharaja : You do a great favour to the United States, Mr Conran-Smith.
Mr Schneiderman : Yeah. Everyone makes suckers of us Americans. I don’t care. I’d rather be a sucker than a lousy sponger. [Offers Conran-Smith a cigar who examines it, sniffs at it and lights it]
Conran-Smith : Not bad! Not bad at all.
Maharaja : You’ve made a convert, Mr Schneiderman. I am sure hereafter Mr Conran-Smith will be an ardent supporter of the American Aid programme.
Conran-Smith : Sure! More and diversified aid. Wheat and rice to the starving Indians; rye, whisky, bourbon and cigars for the well-to-do.
Not a Nice Man to Know Page 49