AND SO IT WAS IN THE EAST...

A Cultural Adaptation of ‘The Court Scene’ in

‘The Merchant of Venice’

CHARACTERS

Shankaran

The Lord

Thommen

Philipose

Radhakrishnan

Two Servants

As the curtain goes up we see all the characters except Radhakrishnan on the stage. A huge banyan tree can be seen at the backdrop. The Lord, with his servants by his side, is sitting on his specially prepared seat in front of the banyan tree. Thommen and his friend Philipose are standing left to the Lord and Shankaran opposite to them. Loud chatter of the crowd as well the indistinctive arguments of the characters can be heard.

LORD: (raises his hand) Silence…Silence. (The crowd and the characters go silent) No more quarrelling in the court. Shankaran, I know that an agreement once made and signed is ever valid. But to ask for that beautiful stretch of land for the failure of paying a debt of 100 silver is a step too far. In the name of His Royal Highness, I ask you to reconsider your position.

PHILIPOSE: (takes a bag of money) Here…Take 200 instead of the original amount. Or do you want me to triple the amount.

SHANKARAN: I know that you are a rich man Philipose. But believe me, not all your money can change my heart.

THOMMEN: Shankaran, that land belonged to my forefathers. They are buried there. Every tree you see there, every stick and stone will have a story to tell of how much pain they underwent to make it as beautiful as it is today. That Piece of land is my heritage. Don’t take it away from me.

SHANKARAN: Heritage? How dare you speak of heritage, Thommen? Your forefathers were proud Hindus. They were worthy enough to hold that land. But you…You have abandoned your true gods. You worship a foreign god, a weak god. And not only that, you persuade others to join you. Both of you. You have no right to speak of heritage.

LORD: Shankaran, such matters are not to be discussed here. We have to settle this issue right now.

SHANKARAN: But there is nothing to settle my Lord. Just let me go and take over the land as per the agreement.

LORD: Not yet Shankaran. You will not set foot on that land before I dismiss this case. So you will wait. I have asked the famous Devadathan Nampoothiripad of Ambalapuzha temple to come here and help me resolve this painstaking affair. He is quite an authority in the laws and scriptures of our land… Just out of curiosity Thommen, How did you end up exactly at his feet? Why couldn’t you borrow money from someone else?

PHILIPOSE: There was no one else, my Lord. You see, when His Royal Highness withdrew all the old coins to issue new ones, it took some time for us to exchange the old for the new. When there came an urgent need for money, there was no one else but him (pointing Shankaran) who had the new currency. There was no choice, my Lord.

LORD: Yes…Yes…A new king comes now and then, and he would want his royal stamp on all the coins. So what does he do? He withdraws all the old coins and issues new ones. Will he listen to the sufferings of the common folk as he is too busy displaying his royal pride.

(A messenger enters)

MESSENGER: My Lord, a person has arrived seeking your audience. He claims to have a letter from one Devadathan Nampoothiripad.

LORD: Ahh Yes… Let him come.

(Radhakrishnan  enters)

RADHA: My Lord, I’m Radhakrishnan. Here (Hands over a letter)… I have a message for you.

(Lord goes through the letter silently)

LORD: Ahh! I see. So…He cannot make it. Instead he has sent you. It says here that you are a learnt law scholar. He is full of praises for you. That is quite unusual from a man like him. He says that an acquaintance of a few days was more than enough to be convinced of your genius.

RADHA: He is being kind, my Lord.

LORD: So, are you familiar with the case?

RADHA: Yes. I heard about it from our mutual friend. (Observes the men) I take it that you are Shankaran. And you…

THOMMEN: I’m Thommen, dear sir. And this is my friend Philipose. Do you think you can help us?

RADHA: I do not know my friends. I can only promise you that justice will be done, no matter what.

SHANKARAN: Having a “Krishnan” in your name doesn’t make you the Lord himself. And besides, justice is already done.

RADHA: Let’s not be so certain about it. Now, if it is okay with you my Lord, can I see the agreement in question?

LORD: Show him the agreement, Shankaran.

(Shankaran produces the document and hands it over to Radhakrishnan.)

RADHA: (after examining the document) Just as I thought.

SHANKARAN: What…?

RADHA: Now before that, I just want to ask you, Shankaran. Why can’t you just take the money that they are offering now? Please spare this innocent man of your greed. Have a little humaneness. I’m not appealing to your spirituality. I just want you to know that your current actions might stand against you in the future. In the near future.

LORD: Yes. How can we expect mercy from others if we are incapable of showing it?

SHANKARAN: I’m standing firm on the law. What do I have to fear?

RADHA: Very well then. I’m afraid that is all I can do. A man should be accountable for his word. If it is written, even more so. I’m so sorry Thommen. Your Land now belongs to Shankaran.

SHANKARAN: Finally…I knew that you were a good man. Now my Lord, may I go and take charge over what is now mine.

RADHA: O! You may, Shankaran. You may go. But there is something that you have to do first.

SHANKARAN: Anything dear sir. I would do anything for you.

RADHA: You see, according to the agreement, (reads out from the document) “If Thommen fails in repaying the debt, his one hectare of land near the banks of river Pamba at Kainakary will be mine”. His Land Shankaran. His Land.

SHANKARAN: Yes sir. Is it not clear enough?

RADHA: You see, when the ancestors of Thommen bought that place, it was just a barren stretch of land. It is their labour and strife that made it what it is today. But now you, as per your agreement, has won over the land. Only the land. But everything else in it, every tree, every little shrub, every stick and stone still belongs to Thommen and his family. So you are free to have your land. But first uproot everything from there, without causing a slight damage and deliver it safely to Thommen.

SHANKARAN: But…That is…That is impossible.

LORD: (laughs) You heard him Shankaran. That is my verdict. You either do as he said or you have no land.

SHANKARAN: But how can one uproot giant trees without causing damage. My Lord, I’m sure there is another possible solution.

LORD: No. There isn’t. This decision is final.

SHANKARAN: Very well then…I think I will think about the offer they made. I will take the 200 silver and I will release the claim.

THOMMEN: No my friend. That is not going to happen. You are free to take my land once you give me my belongings.

SHANKARAN: The initial 100 will be enough, Thommen. That’s what you wanted right. I’ll spare you the interest.

PHILIPOSE: Your dirty plot is exposed Shankaran. You will receive no money from us. My Lord, it is up to you to decide what must be done to him.

SHANKARAN: But you can’t do anything. I haven’t done anything against the law.

RADHA: Yes. You haven’t done anything against the law. That is because sometimes the law can’t stop men like you from fooling men innocent men.

LORD: That is why I’m here. To stop the villainy of treacherous men like you. And to protect men like them. I don’t need any law to take action against you Shankaran.

SHANKARAN: Mercy, my Lord. I never meant any harm to anyone.

LORD: It doesn’t matter. (calls the messenger)  Raman.

(The messenger enters)

MESSENGER: Yes, my Lord.

LORD: Make necessary arrangements for the legal acquisition of the half of Shankaran’s assets.

MESSENGER: At once, my Lord.

(The messenger exits) 

SHANKARAN: Please my Lord. I beg of you.

RADHA: Did I not tell you that your actions might stand against you.

LORD: This case is settled. You are dismissed from the court Shankaran. You may go.

THOMMEN: My Lord, dear Sir, we are forever indebted to you.

(The characters go still, while the below passage is played as voice clip.)

VOICE: Whether it be Venice or Alappuzha, there will always be men like Shylock and Shankaran, waiting to prey on the weakness of their fellow beings. We often waste our time lecturing these men on humane qualities. But does it really help?

 Some men are fortunate enough to have a Balthazar or Radhakrishnan around. But are they really around? Or are they really a part of us in disguise so that we wouldn’t recognize them?

We might have to look closer. See beyond that beard and moustache. It will not be too long before Radhakrishnan turns into Radha.

(Curtain falls)

WAITING FOR...?

CHARACTERS

BRATI CHATTERJEE

THE POET

THE WEALTHY MAN

DAS

THE POLITICIAN

THE TRIBAL MAN

THE WRITER

As the curtain goes up, we see a weary young man - Brati Chatterjee – sitting alone on the stage, immersed in his own thoughts. A moment later, another man – The Poet – enters and occupies a place near Brati.

POET: (Talking to himself) Nothing’s to be done.

BRATI: Pardon me.

POET: O! I was just saying that there is nothing to be done. Now that she’s gone.

BRATI: Who… Who is gone?

POET: Haven’t you heard? “The glorious mother” is no more. Mahasweta Devi is gone.

BRATI: But who was she… Was she your mother?

POET: She was…She was mother to many.

BRATI: I’m sorry… I’ve lost my mother too.

POET: O! May I ask your name?

BRATI: I’m Brati Chatterjee, Son to Sujatha Chatterjee.

POET: Brati… Brati (wondering)… Did you say Brati Chatterjee? And Sujatha? (He seems to have realized something).

BRATI: Why? Do you know me?

POET: Of course I do. Well… Everybody knows about you.

BRATI: Well then… Where is everybody? I’ve been sitting here for a very long time and I haven’t seen anybody. What is this place?

POET: Well, they call this place, “The Valley of Ashes”.

BRATI: The Valley of Ashes!

POET: Yes. This is where the humans dump everything that they do not want. Everything and everyone, for that matter… but how did you end up here?

BRATI: I really don’t know. I was at my friend’s house. We were ambushed by our enemies. The last thing I remember is a man swinging his sword at me. And then, I’m here. I don’t know if I’m dead.

POET: No. You can’t die… We can’t die… We never lived to die.

BRATI: What?

POET: Nothing… I was just…

BRATI: (looks around) Where exactly is this place?

POET: Well… (Points to the west) That is where the modern civilization lives. (Points to the east) And that is where all the tribals of this area live. And in between, this stretch of void.

BRATI: What…? The tribals are living even beyond this? And none from the modern civilization cares?

POET: Most of them don’t. But there are a few who does. But now that their mother is gone…

BRATI: You mean your mother?

POET: Yes. That’s right.

BRATI: Well… Tell me about her. Did you…Did you know her well?

POET: Yes. I knew her well. I was with her although out my life. Now they’ve buried her. So, I thought I’d be better off at the valley of ashes. (Hears something) Someone is coming. Don’t say anything about us to anybody. Do you understand?

BRATI: But why?

POET: I’ll tell you later. But remember. Reveal nothing. Not even your name.

(The wealthy man [WM] enters with his vassal. As he is blind, the vassal is leading the way by holding his hand. )

WM: Is there anyone who can help us?

BRATI: Yes. What can we do for you?

WM: Well, we are on our way to Tengua. Are we heading the right way?

(Brati turns to the Poet.)

POET: Yes. You are on the right path. May I ask why you are going to Nandigram?

WM: I’m not going to Nandigram. Just Tengua. Haven’t you heard? They are erecting a statue of Mahasweta Devi at Tengua. They are conducting a memorial ceremony as well.

POET: So you knew her?

WM: Not so well. Do you remember the cyclone that hit the Sunder bans Islands?

POET: Yes…After that her apartment was like a mini NGO office. Many people came rushing to her for help.

WM: (Laughs) The situation was much worse than that. Many children were being trafficked from the islands for child labour. She wanted to help them. But she couldn’t do it alone. She needed help.

POET: So, you helped her.

WM: Yes. With some others. Rich men can make powerful connections. May be that’s the only reason she came to folks like us.

BRATI: Who is this person with you?

WM: O! This? This is Das…a tribal I hired to be my vassal. He’s mute. He won’t talk. Well then, we really should move fast. Cars won’t go through here. And no helipad at Tengua.

(To Das) Come, you dog. Didn’t you hear? We are on the right path. Take me to Tengua. Faster, you dog.

(They exit)

BRATI: Wow… A blind man going to see a statue.

POET: A hypocrite. I thought he might be a good man when he said that he helped our mother. But did you see how he behaved to that vassal of his? That too a mute.

BRATI: What do you think might’ve happened if he had a tongue and enough strength to react?

POET: Exactly…That is what mother did. She strengthened them with her words and then through her writings she became their tongue.

BRATI: What happened at Nandigram?

POET: Nandigram and Singur. We should say these names together. The corrupt communist government was illegally acquiring land from the peasants, to be given away to big companies. So, the peasants protested. It happened in 2007, I think. Fourteen peasants were killed in a police firing. She went down there, with many others and opposed the government actions. A similar thing happened at Singur… (Hush) Someone else is coming.

(Politician enters)

POLIT: May I ask something. Is this the right way to Tengua?

POET: Yes it is. Are you going to the memorial meeting of Mahasweta Devi?

POLIT: Yes. I have a speech to deliver there today.

BRATI: You don’t look like you are from Bengal.

POLIT: Well, I’m not. I’m from the southern state of Kerala. I represent the congress party of my state.

POET: Then how do you know her?

POLIT: I didn’t knew her.

POET: How can you deliver a memorial speech about someone you doesn’t know?

POLIT: It’s easy. One has to have the skills.

BRATI: What?

POET: Why did your party send you to speak? Has she done something of importance for your party?

POLIT: Well… She opposed the communist party here. We oppose the communist party there. It means we’re on the same side. Don’t you think?

POET: No. She didn’t oppose the communist party.  She stood against its policies and corruption. She never represented the ideologies of any political parties.

POLIT: You can’t say that. She supported Mamata Bannerjee in her elections.

POET: Support was not any particular individual. She campaigned for change. To put an End to the 34 years of communist autocracy.

POLIT: Ah! So you admit that she had political motives.

POET: How do you define “Political”?

POLIT: I don’t know. It’s pretty complex.

POET: No, it’s not. Whatever that is not personal is political. Yes, she was political in the sense that she never did anything for her gain. You say she sided with Trinamool Congress. Didn’t you see what happened when the new government took action against Maoists in Lalgarh? Who protested first when government denied permission to hold a rally in Kolkata? Don’t you remember the park street rape incident? Who called the government a “Fascist Regime” when a professor was arrested for sharing Mamata’s Cartoon?

POLIT: Chill my friend. I was just… maybe I should go. Bye then.

(Politician exits)

POET: Did you see how they misunderstand her. This world is full of fools like him. No wonder why there is so injustice everywhere.

BRATI: So… She supported Maoists?

POET: No. She never… She opposed the government’s brutality towards them. She never supported Maoism or Naxalism.

BRATI: But what choice do the poor people have when violence is thrust upon them.

POET: That is when they must really make the choice of not taking arms. But if you choose to fight, know that the enemy expects you to fight. Then there will be nothing but chaos.

BRATI: And then there are stunted beasts among us who instigate chaos just to prey on the weak. Everything you believe in and everything you hold dear will be stripped off you and no one would care. Just because you are weak.

POET: (After a short pause) I’m afraid, that’s how the world works now. (Listening) Someone else is coming this way.

(The Tribal man enters)

TRIBAL: Excuse me friends, can I ask you something?

BRATI: Are you going to Tengua?

TRIBAL: (Surprised) Yes… Yes I am… But how come you know about it?

BRATI: Did you know Mahasweta Devi, personally?

TRIBAL: Yes I knew her. I knew her very well. Every person from Chharanagar knew her.

POET: You’re from Chharanagar. What is your name?

TRIBAL: I’m Daxinkumar Bajrange. I’m a documentary film maker. All because of her.

POET: Yes. I know you. I remember watching your films.

BRATI: So… She helped you become a film maker.

TRIBAL: (Smiles) No. It’s not like that. She… She helped the people of my tribe to see what we really were. She helped us to crack the nutshell and emerge into the new world.

POET: Brati, have you heard of the “Budhan Theatre”?

BRATI: No. What is it?

TRIBAL: Well, let me tell him… I belong to the chhara tribal community of Ahmadabad. According to an act passed by the British in 1871, many tribes like ours were notified as Criminal Tribes.

BRATI: But we are no longer under British rule.

POET: That is correct. But the Indian governments changed nothing but the word “Criminal” and called them “de-notified tribes”.

TRIBAL: Your friend is right. We remained like that until came. She came and started a library at Chharanagar.

POET: Do you where she got the money for that?

BRATI: No.

POET: She had won the Jnanapith puraskar in 1996. It was her prize money that she gave away for this. The whole amount!

TRIBAL: Yes. And she did something else for us. She started a theatre and called it “Budhan”. She wanted us to overcome the stigma of Criminal label attached to us. She told us to use the theatre as a means of self-expression. First we were afraid. But once we grasped the concept, there was no stopping us. We would stage the incidents from our own life. We would sing from our hearts. The power of words, my friend… Nothing can beat that.

POET: The people of Chhara tribe are fully literate now. All because of her.

TRIBAL: Yes… All because of her… Time seems to be in a hurry. I must go now my friends. I’m a bit late. Is this the way?

POET: Yes, that is so.

TRIBAL: Bye then. I hope I will see you again.

BOTH: Yes, Bye.

(Tribal man exits)

BRATI: Wow… You lived with such a person almost all your life.

POET: The only good thing that ever happened to me.

BRATI: So, she was an activist and a writer.

POET: Well, she considered both as one and the same. “Writing is activism for me”, she once said.

BRATI: Did she work mostly for the tribals?

POET: Mostly, yes. She used to travel several kilometers on foot into remote villages to interact with them. She was an English professor, you know. But she wrote in Bengali. Not pure Bengali… almost a tribal version of it. So that she could directly convey the thoughts and ideas, which the tribal people spoke to her about.

(While the Poet is speaking, another man - The Writer - enters unnoticed)

WRITER: “I like roaming in glades in glens. I keep well when I am among people”. She said that.

POET: I’m sorry, who are you?

WRITER: Well, I’m just someone who thinks that I’m a writer.

BRATI: We didn’t hear you come.

WRITER: That’s one thing about us writers. Nobody will us coming… So you were talking about Mahasweta Devi. I take it that you are huge fans of her.

POET: Oh! We are much more than that.

WRITER: I can understand. I’m a huge fan of her. So you were talking about-

POET: We were talking about what she did for the tribal people. How she wrote for them.

WRITER: Yes, yes… I remember reading one of her books. “Imaginary

Maps”, I think. Yes. In it she speaks of a tribal girl who once spoke to her. The girl asked her why they had to study only about Mahatma Gandhi and other mainstream national leaders. She wanted to know why they didn’t have any heroes.

POET: That is why she had been writing about them all throughout her life. She repaid their love with honor. She made them feel proud about their tribal identity.

WRITER: Her search was always for what was underneath. I could never meet her in person. But I read her a lot. About 100 novels and 20 short story collections. God… Can you imagine? I mean I have all the time in the world but still couldn’t publish one novel.

POET: She used to read a lot. Reading and interacting with people. That’s how she gathered her material for writing.

WRITER: I have been doing the same thing and still nothing. If only I could publish one novel before I die. I just want to be remembered as a writer.

POET: You think she chose writing to be famous don’t you? Well let me tell you something. No true writer wants to be a writer. But they are left with no choice. The things they see… the things they hear… it haunts them. It haunts them until they let it out somehow. If you are a true writer, you’ll never be at peace. I can assure you that.

WRITER: I know… I was just…

POET: Many of her novels were such haunting experiences.

WRITER: Yes. I’ve heard about her novel “Hazar churazir Ma”, Mother of 1084, you know. The story of Sujatha Chatterjee and her naxalite son Brati.

BRATI: What? What did you just say?

POET: May be we shouldn’t talk about this.

BRATI: Stop it. (To the writer) What did you say about Sujatha Chatterjee?

WRITER: Why? You don’t know? You don’t know the central characters of her most famous work?

BRATI: (Shocked) Characters…

WRITER: It is said that the story is based on her own life and her son’s leaning towards left wing extremism.

BRATI: Fictional characters…

WRITER: (Without paying attention) He died two years ago, you know. Her son, Nabarun Bhattacharya. He was sixty six. Like mother like father, he was also a writer.

(Brati looks shattered and he moves towards one end of the stage)

POET: (With repressed anger) I take it that you are going to the memorial ceremony at Tengua.

WRITER: Yes.

POET: Then you are free to leave.

WRITER: Hey… What did I do…? Did I say something wrong?  Tell me. What just happened?

POET: Just leave.

WRITER: Ok… I… It’s fine… I’ll go.

(Writer exits. The Poet slowly approaches Brati)

BRATI: What did he just say?

POET: The truth.

BRATI: The truth?

POET: Yes. The truth that you are just a fictional character. Not a real person.

BRATI: You are not making any sense.

POET: Sit down Brati… let me explain everything. (Sits) I’m Bandyagadigayi - a Poet. I was a character in one of her stories. But in my story, I was a failure. So, she liberated me into this real world. Only she could see me… I went with her everywhere. I watched her working for the poor and the deprived. But when she died… I was left alone. I knew about this place. “The Valley of Ashes”- the abode of all the forgotten and unwanted things. Anyone who enters this place will see all those things that are thrown away from the outside world. Here, there is no distinction between the real and the imaginary. So, I came here. 

BRATI: But what about me? How did I…? I never came here. I was put here.

POET: At first I couldn’t understand it. But now I do.

BRATI: Well then, tell me…

POET: Like that man said, you were created after her son… But you failed in life. Just like I did. So, she killed you off in the story.

BRATI: Why would someone do that?

POET: To get a message to her son, I think. She couldn’t let him pursue left wing extremism. That Sujatha Chatterjee in the story was herself. May be that’s why she couldn’t bear the thought of your death. May be that’s why she liberated you and put you here so that she wouldn’t have to worry about you.

(Brati remains silent with a painful look on his face)

POET: I know this is hard for you. I really do. But this is how the world works.  There is injustice everywhere. Sometimes a few will rise up and fight. But when they die, it all stops. This goes on forever. No matter what, injustice will always be here. ‘Men may come and men may go, but injustice will go on forever’.

BRATI: I understand… There is nothing to be done.

POET: (Smiles) Aye… That is right.

BRATI: So, what do we do?

POET: We’ll just sit here and wait.

BRATI: Wait…? For what? For whom?

POET: I don’t know… Maybe for something that is never going to come.

BRATI: (Laughs) I like that... It seems like the perfect thing to do.

POET: And while we’re at that, let me tell you about the statue of Birsa Munda in Ranchi.

BRATI: What about it?

POET: Well… You know who he was right? Anyway let me tell you…

(Conversation fades slowly as they speak. Curtain falls)