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)