LAWRENCE: Stay, Sher Singh.
(Pause.)
SHER SINGH: (Quietly.) Did you banish the Rani because Dalip insulted your government today?
LAWRENCE: No.
SHER SINGH: Yes. You were looking for an excuse to do this, and today’s incident gave you that excuse.
LAWRENCE: No, no.
SHER SINGH: Then why did you do it?
(No reply.)
I know. Reasons of state policy.
(Pause. Looks at Lawrence, who remains silent.)
But they can be met if one believes in oneself.
LAWRENCE: Perhaps one has stopped believing in oneself.
SHER SINGH: That’s not true, sir. It’s a matter of choice. You’ve chosen. You could have chosen the way of the heart. Because she was your friend—you won’t deny that? Or you could have chosen to obey your country’s order. Your duty to her or your duty to your Queen. You’ve chosen. In my terms, Larins Sahib, it’s a choice between the Punjab and England. Your Queen and my Queen. That’s where we part. I won’t have anything to do with the Company Raj. Farewell!
LAWRENCE: Stay, my friend. Stay, Sher Singh.
SHER SINGH: I feel sad now. For you were our hope—our golden evening. You gave us a sense of life—to me, to the Rani, to Dalip. We returned it with the only thing we had: our love. But we were mistaken.
LAWRENCE: Everything isn’t lost. The Punjab is still there. Together we’ll make it into a rich, prosperous land. Together we’ll make it shine like the sun. The Jats, the Sikhs, the Paharis, the Pathans—they depend on you and me. You can’t leave it all half done. Remember what you promised me in Delhi.
SHER SINGH: Yes.
LAWRENCE: You said the One-eyed Lion would be proud of us.
SHER SINGH: But I didn’t think you’d start acting like him.
(Suddenly becomes embarrassed.)
LAWRENCE: (Barking.) What do you mean?
SHER SINGH: (Embarrassed.) No, nothing.
(Pause.)
LAWRENCE: (Softly.) Do you think what I did was dishonourable?
SHER SINGH: Why bother with empty words? One of our wise men has said: ‘Honour is only what you think other people think of you, and the attention you pay to their opinions.’ We’ve chosen. You’ve chosen to serve the British Raj. I’ve chosen to serve the Punjab. We’re now in opposite camps.
LAWRENCE: We’re still friends.
SHER SINGH: What’s friendship to do with it? Anybody can be friends. When my Rani is heartbroken, you talk of honour and friendship.
(Pause, Lawrence silent.)
Farewell, Larins Sahib. Before I leave, let me tell you: I shall return. When I do, I shall be on the other side. I shall come to avenge my Queen. I shall be armed and the whole Punjab army will be behind me. The Angrez will be thrown out of the Punjab or I shall die. Larins Sahib, you’ve made a man of me, and I thank you. It was another Sher Singh who wanted to be an English gentleman. He’s as dead as the One-eyed Lion. You taught me the magic of the Lion’ name, Larins Sahib. Now I shall go from village to village, from house to house, and shout his name. I shall shout (and he shouts.) ‘Come on men. Take your swords. Remember the Lion, and save your land.’ I shall rally every son and father. We shall kick out the Angrez. And we shall save our land. Farewell, Larins Sahib, we shall meet on the battlefield again.
(Exit. Long pause. Lawrence initially looks dejected. He collects himself slowly takes a deep breath, raising himself to his full height. Aglow returns to his face. Goes to the mirror again, and adjusts his chogah. Then he swaggers about, displaying his jewel, triumphantly. Sound of footsteps.)
LAWRENCE: (Authoritatively.) Who’s there?
(Enter Edwardes.)
EDWARDES: I’ve been looking for you, sir.
LAWRENCE: What is it?
EDWARDES: Special dak from Calcutta, sir.
LAWRENCE: (Impatiently.) Later!
EDWARDES: It’s come by special messenger, sir. From the Governor-General.
LAWRENCE: Later! Did you see Sher Singh leaving?
EDWARDES: (Puzzled.) Yes, sir. I meant to ask you. He looked upset, and he walked past me without even recognizing me.
LAWRENCE: (With an effort.) He’s leaving us. Leaving permanently.
EDWARDES: I’m sorry to hear it.
LAWRENCE: (More to himself.) But I still have the Punjab. Let them go away. I don’t need them. I don’t need the Rani; nor Sher Singh. I have the Punjab. Angrez Badshah! The new Lion is here. I am the Punjab!
EDWARDES: (Uncomfortably.) Yes, sir. The messenger is waiting.
LAWRENCE: What is it?
EDWARDES: (Producing a sealed letter.) It’s marked ‘personal and confidential,’ sir.
LAWRENCE: Open it.
(Edwardes tears the seal.)
Read it.
EDWARDES: (Delicately.) But it’s personal, sir.
LAWRENCE: Read it.
EDWARDES: (Reading.) My dear Lawrence, I regret to inform you that the Court of Directors of the Company are persuaded that the Government of India no longer requires your services in the Punjab. Mr Currie will temporarily assume charge at Lahore until a suitable successor is appointed. He will prepare grounds for the formal annexation of the Punjab. You are requested to proceed to Calcutta.’
(Long silence.)
LAWRENCE: You’d better go now, Edwardes. I’ll take off the Lion’s chogah. It’s grown too hot for me.
(Long pause. Takes off the chogah slowly. Lights fade.)
Afterword
The major characters in this play existed. Its action is based on events in the Punjab in 1846-7, and was reconstructed from documents and letters exchanged by the principal characters. The historically curious may be interested to know what subsequently became of these characters.
Henry Lawrence was transferred to Rajasthan from the Punjab: a demotion in the eyes of his contemporaries. His younger brother, John Lawrence (mentioned in Act I), succeeded him in the Punjab and rose brilliantly to become the famous Lord Lawrence, the Governor-General and Viceroy of India. Henry Lawrence flickered once more briefly into history when he died defending the Residency in Lucknow in the 1857 Mutiny. Much was made at the time of his heroism; some even said that he had saved the British Empire.
That he saved the British Empire was in a sense true, though not in the way most people believed. The British won the 1857 war mainly through the support of the Punjab troops. The loyalty of the Punjab had been won ten years before by Henry Lawrence through his ‘rule’ of justice and generosity. Even today people talk about him in many villages of the Punjab.
Rani Jindan escaped from the Sheikhupura jail. She was seized and banished from the Punjab to a fortress in Benares. Once again she escaped, this time to Nepal where the king gave her asylum. She was never allowed to return to India nor to see her son, till the very end of her life—after sixteen years—in May 1863. She died three months later. Dalip scattered her ashes from the banks of the river in Nasik because he was not allowed to enter the Punjab. She had wished them thrown into the Ravi, near Lahore.
Sher Singh, true to his word, returned to throw out the Angrez from the Punjab. He rallied a sizeable force and launched such a successful attack on the British that the frightened establishment in Calcutta had to call in British troops from all over India to fight essentially one man in what historically came to be called the Second Sikh War. Sher Singh fought gallantly, but it was an unequal contest. With his defeat the spirit of Ranjit Singh finally died in the Punjab and the British formally annexed it in 1849. However, for the Punjabis, Sher Singh had salvaged the honour they had lost in Sobraon; and they were thankful to him.
Dalip was converted to Christianity and sent to England as a young boy where the British Government gave him an annual pension and the Elvedon Estate in Sussex. He grew up a dandy—mildly ostentations, favouring black velvet jackets (he was affectionately called the ‘Black Prince’)—and was rumoured to be a great favourite of Queen Victoria for many years. He married a Ge
rman Ethiopian girl, Bamba Muller, who gave him two sons and three daughters. But he lived far beyond his means and ran up large debts.
In his later years, he realized he had been cheated by the British and, reverting to Sikhism, made a ludicrous effort to enlist the help of European powers and Indian Princes to win back his kingdom. He called himself an ‘implacable foe’ of the British people. His efforts, however, did not come to much and he spent his last years frustrated and angry. He died in Paris in 1893 of paralysis, and was buried a week later at Elvedon.
MIRA
Mira was first performed at the La Mama Theater, New York, on 20 May 1970. It was directed by Martin Brenzell, with original music by David Walker, and the following cast:
Yolande Bavan
Mira
Patricia Conway
Uda
Farid Farrah
Jai
Gretchen Oehler
Jhali
Erik Robinson
Rana
Thomas Aronis
Percussion, harp and harmonium
John Littlefield
Flutes
Note: The running time of the La Mama production was 90 minutes.
The play has since been performed in Mexico City (1971), Bombay (1972), New Delhi (1973 and 1998), Ahmedabad (1973), Madras (1985) and a number of other cities. It was first published in Spanish (Mira: Rito de Krishna, translated by Enrique Hett, Institute Nacional de Bellas Artes, Mexico, D.F., 1971).
Characters
ACTRESS 1
(Mira)
ACTOR 1
(Rana)
ACTOR 2
(Jai)
ACTRESS 2
(Uda)
ACTRESS 3
(Jhali)
The action of the play takes place in early sixteenth century Mewar, a princely state in North-western India.
1. The Prologue
ACTRESS 1: I am Mira. I am an ant on a matchstick lit at both ends.
ALL: (Chanting.) I sing to the hearts of men and women; I dance before him, and I wail of the divine death.
ACTRESS 1: (Sings.) ‘Mira,’ he said, ‘sing.’
‘I will,’ I said, ‘if you play the flute’
‘Mira,’ he said, ‘sing, sing’
And he set the whole universe humming.
ALL: (Chanting.) They sing my songs; and remember their sons.
ACTRESS 1: I never had a son.
ACTOR 2: It’s the difference between knowing and being good.
ACTOR 1: To know is to know yourself; to be good is to love another.
ACTRESS 1: I love my god.
ACTOR 2: What about the Rana?
ACTRESS 1: What about my pain?
ACTRESS 3: For centuries they have been singing her songs.
ACTRESS 1: A tiger dies and leaves his skin behind;
a man dies and leaves his name behind.
ACTOR 2: It’s been glory. A saint—what more does she want?
ACTRESS 1: And the ones who thought I was barren?
ACTRESS 2: She ruined this fertile land.
ACTRESS 1: Blood flowed in our rivers.
ACTRESS 3: Mother’s milk flowed in our rivers.
ACTRESS 1: This mother is dry.
ACTRESS 2: The land is wasted and poor.
ACTRESS 1: Don’t shoot at a sparrow; you will only spoil a good arrow.
ACTOR 2: What more does she want?
ACTRESS 1: You are only delaying the story. It is the day of my marriage
(The dance of the marriage ceremony.)
2. Isn’t the Bed Small for the Two of Us?
ACTRESS 1: It is the night of my marriage.
ACTOR 1: The Rana and Mira walk in with candles. The Rana places his candle on a holder.
ACTRESS 1: Mira nervous, looks around the room in awe.
ACTRESS 3: The pace of this scene is slow, hesitant; long pauses and embarrassed silences.
ACTRESS 2: The mood is soft and tender, to grasp the undercurrent of desire and the nuances of a situation where physical touch precedes and leads to emotional contact.
ACTOR 1: The Rana picks up a flower from the bed and gives it to her.
ACTRESS 1: Which increases her embarrassment.
ACTOR 1: Then he leads her before the wooden image of Kali, which is chiselled on the door.
ACTOR 1: Bow to Mother!
ACTRESS 1: She hesitates.
ACTOR 1: Bow to her. Kali is our family goddess.
ACTRESS 1: I don’t like her face.
ACTOR 1: What?
ACTRESS 1: Mira is frightened.
ACTOR 1: Don’t be afraid. A cat holds a mouse and her kitten in the same teeth. Only our enemies are afraid of her.
ACTRESS 1: If it will catch mice why not have a squirrel instead of a cat.
ACTOR 1: Kali will give you a son if you worship her.
ACTRESS 1: They say parenthesis it is painful when the son comes out.
ACTOR 1: Rana goes back to bed, and slowly begins to undress. Embarrassed pause.
(Dance of the bed.)
ACTRESS 1: Isn’t the bed small for the two of us?
ACTOR 1: No.
ACTRESS 1: In my father’s home they always gave me a big bed to sleep in. Don’t you have enough beds in the palace?
ACTOR 1: Yes.
ACTRESS 1: Will I have one for myself later on?
ACTOR 1: You are the Rana’s wife.
ACTRESS 1: Yes?
ACTOR 1: Don’t you know what that means?
ACTRESS 1: Oh, yes.
ACTOR 1: What?
ACTRESS 1: Oh yes … yes I do.
ACTOR 1: Women are instructed by nature what men have to learn from books.
ACTRESS 1: A vessel is filled slowly by falling drops of rain.
ACTOR 1: We will make a son for the kingdom.
ACTRESS 1: A son comes to those who have earned him.
ACTOR 1: The son will make war and rule the world.
ACTRESS 1: A son will be born out of love.
ACTOR 1: The Rana is walking about uncomfortably. Now he hesitantly gets into the bed.
ACTRESS 1: Mira looks the other way.
ACTOR 1: The poet says, every month the moon vainly tries to match Mira’s face. Having failed, it destroys its work and begins again.
ACTRESS 1: Even honey falling on a roof of sugar blushes at the Rana’s words.
ACTOR 1: Is Mira going to sleep like this? … I am looking the other way.
… I am going to turn around … Are you going to sleep like this?
ACTRESS 1: I am not sleepy.
ACTOR 1: Come.
ACTRESS 1: The Rana should sleep …. Shall I blow out the candle?
ACTOR 1: Mira will be cold outside.
ACTRESS 1: Is the Rana pleased?
ACTRESS 3: The poet says, ‘You are fortunate, dear friends, that you can tell what happened with your lovers, the jests and laughter, all the words and joys; after my sweetheart put his hand to the knot of my dress, I swear that I remember nothing.’
3. The Rainbird
ACTOR 2: (Sings.) So began Mira’s life in her new home, her husband’s home. Days passed into months and the prince and the princess were happy. Any day of the year they could be found playing in the gardens Catching butterflies, singing with myna birds, resting under the Ashok tree and looking into each others eyes. After some time, the prince tired of this sport; he was reminded of his duties to the state and his people. And Mira had more and more time to herself.
ACTRESS 1: A year later. Mira enters into an empty courtyard.
ACTRESS 3: And discovers Jhali, her faithful servant, waiting for her.
ACTRESS 1: I’m here! Isn’t anybody home? Are you all dead? Oh it’s you?
ACTRESS 3: Who did you expect to find—a guard of honour?
ACTRESS 1: If that’s how I’m welcomed, I might as well go back.
ACTRESS 3: You’ve only been away an afternoon.
ACTRESS 1: I went away for ever.
ACTRESS 3: You were angry.<
br />
ACTRESS 1: I was going to die.
ACTRESS 3: So what happened?
ACTRESS 1: I … I got scared.
ACTRESS 3: The doctor’s advice to the lovesick is: first drink the nectar from his lips; then follow it up with his warm hand on your breasts; cap it with a soothing massage of your loins and hips.
ACTRESS 1: Mira is angry with the Rana.
ACTRESS 3: Marriage without quarrel is like food without spice.
ACTRESS 1: Marriage without love is no food at all.
ACTRESS 3: He can’t play with you forever. The Rana must rule the kingdom.
ACTRESS 1: The Rana must also rule the Rani. He only thinks about the kingdom.
ACTRESS 3: Mira only thinks of love.
ACTRESS 1: He only thinks of war.
ACTRESS 3: He is a conqueror.
ACTRESS 1: The real conqueror first overcomes himself.
ACTRESS 3: He is a soldier.
ACTRESS 1: The best soldiers are not warlike.
(Dance of the rainbird.)
ACTRESS 1: I saw a rainbird today, Jhali. It was noon and hot, not a cloud in the sky, not a breeze everything was parched dry. Even the leaves bristled painfully when you walked on them.
ACTRESS 3: Were you barefoot?
ACTRESS 1: And what do I see … this rainbird in the sky crying in anguish. It was dying of thirst.
ACTRESS 3: The heron is a saint as long as there’s no fish in sight.
ACTRESS 1: It came near the lake and I thought I heard it sigh with relief. The crying stopped. With shining eyes it dove down, but just as it was about to hit the water it leaped up again and went higher and higher into the heavens, into the sky—away from temptation. Even if it’s dying of thirst, the rainbird only drinks rain.
ACTRESS 3: The tiger who waited for the jungle to bring him food starved, I think.
(The procession of the demons.)
ACTRESS 2: Enter Uda, the Rana’s sister.
What are these?
ACTRESS 1: Flowers. I picked them myself.
ACTRESS 2: (Throwing them.) There!
Three Plays Page 11