FAITH: A PLAY IN
TWO PIECES
by Joe Martin
FAITH: A Play in Two Pieces copyright © 2008 & 2010 by Joe Martin. This play may
not be duplicated or copied, distributed, produced or performed without the expressed
consent of the author or his agent. Where there is a price for admission to a performance a
payment of royalties is required. Inquiries about professional rights (for theatre, radio,
television, film and other media) as well as amateur rights should be addressed to: Tonda
Marton, The Marton Agency, 1 Union Square West, Rm 815, New York, NY 10003-3303.
Fax (502) 634-8001. Phone (212) 255-1908 E-mail: martonagcy@aol.com or
tonda@martonagency.com
__________________________________
Note: A much earlier draft of this play received a reading at LaMaMa ETC in 2007,
New York City, directed by Raine Bode.
FAITH
A Play in Two Pieces
CHARACTERS
PIECE 1
AURANGZEB, Moghul ruler of India (son of Shah Jahan, builder of the Taj Mahal)
DARA SHIKOOH, his brother, rightful heir to Shah Jahan
JIHANARA, their elder sister, author and spiritual teacher
MUMTEZ MAHAL, their deceased mother, wife of Shah Jahan, enshrined in the Taj.
A SAQI / SCRIBE
PIECE 2
SAADI, a scarf and rug street salesman
JOHN B, Evangelical relief organizer
CHRISTIANE, Catholic lay foreign aid consultant
ILANA, a student returning from Israel
A WAITRESS
_______________________________
The two “pieces” are autonomous, yet interlocking. The set configuration in each
echoes the other. Three round tables are in the foreground in both. The carpets
covering the floor and cloths on the tables in the first piece are hung on Saadi’s street
vendor’s booth in the second. The “booth” in part two is the wooden frame on which
fabrics are hung in part one to create a throne. Other maneuvers in this spirit are
encouraged.
PIECE I
The Void. With details or artifacts from the a chamber of the Red Fort in Agra India.
The lit part of the stage floor is bedecked with carpets. Three round tables are
covered with classical paisley cloth, with many blues and reds and some gold mixed
in. Each table has a hole in the middle, not yet visible. In the center a throne with
golden silks draped on it.
Two round tables on either side of the throne. They have man-sized holes in the center
of them. If possible, the tables and throne are able to roll or glide–or simply can
shift right and left, up and down in four directions. The characters emerge from the
center of the tables and throne.
A SAQI, a boy who doubles as a scribe (played by the actress playing ILANA in Part
II) sits at the side with a manuscript scroll and quill, and can pour wine, always
returning to cushion with quill and scroll.
__________________________
A shaft of light on AURANGZEB, who is on the throne.
AURANGZEB:
How did it go ...
How did I prevail?
“Aurangzeb—Emperor of Hindustan”
Get this down, the whole vision.
My life is a testimony to faith.
I shall testify. Shall we commence?
The SAQI puts pen to page and head down.
First an anecdote. Concerning a commoner
I met with my entourage while making a grand entry.
I saw a small house in the alley by the mosque
which lies in the Delhi Red Fort,
in which a man sat cobbling shoes.
I walked to the doorway and had my people knock.
“You seem to me a man of faith, humble, and probably a fair dealer” I said.
“What is it like to sit and cobble here all day?
Steadfast in your work as you surely are in your faith?”
He responded:
“Sultan of sunlight, Prince of Mercy,
please don’t address a humble leather man
in that way.” I asked him to dispense with these epithets.
In God’s name, do you think your ruler a vain man?”
He carried on.
“King of the compassionate
who does right by his subjects—.
soul king, angel king, ruler of righteousness.”
“To the point man” I said. “What are your aspirations?”
“I am fixing these shoes so their owner can walk in them.”
I was astonished by his reply.
Its charming simplicity left me stunned.
This is the beauty of the common people
living in accord with the Law and hard work. I said:
“My good man, you impress me.
I rule for the people like you. People with
simple lives with proper regard for what is important.
For what else is the Law but shoes we can walk in
and keep our feet from hurt? How may we help you?”
“Son of our protector Shah Jahan,” the man went on,
“You may help me in one thing ...” He stopped, and considered.
“Speak tell me, so I may hear your need.”
“My lord, because I do ablutions eighteen times a day
my ignorant neighbors – worshippers of the river –
“What?” I broke in. “Of the river?”
“Yes. They have always mocked me.
But things have gone from bad to worse.
They told some Portuguese traders that my daughters were whores,
and now they have absconded with them both.”
To say I was sickened to hear this
would be putting it mildly.
Admittedly I did not ask if his daughters
had any vocation. Still
I swore then that I would give that man redress
against those who’d spit on him for his piety.
And not him alone, but all our people like him.
If I could not find the Portuguese kafirs
why not – I said to myself – take payment out
on the hide of his neighbors.
That is, anyone who worships rivers, stones or statues.
Reflecting further I thought: “Let us put all their heads on pikes –
The in the grand style we have reintroduced since my coronation.
The foreigners and our own subjects who use this man’s daughters
to feed the lusts of deviants in our society
to unleash violence and chaos among the people –
let us tan their hides. Those who refuse to wear his shoes
preferring to wade barefoot in supposedly holy rivers,
– no river is “holy” make that an annotation –
deluded as they are in taking bodies of water for gods
Sarasvati, and Ganga, and Besmati and what have you”.
I then came to reflect on the evils of idolatry.
What wouldn’t I do to quiet the secret screaming of their idols
that scour me in my dreams at night
up and down the Indus and the Ganges,
drowning out the pure voice of this simple man’s faith.
The idolaters of Hindustan are everywhere.
The idols can been seen on your streets and avenues.
The worst of them sit every day in the market place
Hawking their temptations, putting out their tendrils,
leading people away from paradise that is theirs by right,
and into the roiling flames of judgment.
“Where is the soul of these people” I asked myself?
Caught in the honeyed jaws of moneylenders,
whore-makers, sellers and buyers and swindlers.
I speak of all those who earn their living
by persuading the people to love idols.
“Non-believers must be convinced
or disappear from the face of the earth.”
I quote myself. This is history. A footnote please.
It is amazing that I am my best source, is it not?
He rotates upstage on throne and regards the bed
Shah Jahan my father was a good king
but an idolatrous man
an infatuated man.
I have put him in a generous prison.
in this far tower of the Agra fort.
Here he sits every day on his sick bed staring at the river
on which boatmen sway like reeds of grass in the heat
when the humid vapors distort all the images
of men, trees and animals, and miles away
heat waves bend the image of the greatest idol in the world
his glowing white monument to Mumtez …
My mother—who did not favor me.
There he lies and stares out at the distant embankment
at that palace housing nothing but a corpse.
An idol dedicated to an even worse idol.
Pause.
A woman.
Pause. To the SAQI / SCRIBE.
I am not without experience in these matters.
There is nothing in a woman that is not
trickery, trouble, betrayal, lust,
and hard bargaining. When you defy them
they overcook your chapatis with malice.
Even if Mumtez Mahal was my imperial-royal mother.
It may be true that, in the plan of all things,
women must deceive in order to conceive.
I myself was conceived by a mother.
I will not deny that arouses my sentimental side.
To the SAQI
Now I have hit my stride, no?
Back to the main thread. Why have I acted as I have?
Enough was enough! I acted to bring back justice.
Pause.
Let me put it thus. It came to me.
“It is time to draw the line.”
How much of his vast realm of the East
did Shah Jahan plunder for art and gems
for his monument to this woman
paid for by our treasury.
To get his ivory his gold the chiseled stones
the lattice work the arabesques
the honey colored agates
the lapis outlines amethyst cups the gold leaf
the inlaid emerald tiles that glow
when the moon flares its skirts at night.
He depleted the vaults of the empire, and all for love.
Love. That’s a rich word—and daemonic too.
The SAQI wrties, oblivious to the fact that he is being
addressed.
He rolls the throne toward the SAQI / SCRIBE.
Scribe? Saqi?
Did we get all that down?
I hope I am articulating my position?
Hell, you fools have no advice to give.
Pause. He summons the SAQI, who approaches him.
Intoxicated. A whole continent intoxicated
that was the logical conclusion of Jahan’s “work for love”.
Decay in the body politic.You agree, I know.
Pause. He grabs the SAQI, holding his face to focus
his attention on the distances
Across the river lies the stump of the next Taj he planned!
This one for himself
for the day he would join his beloved Mumtez Mahal.
The idol-crazed dotard had to be stopped.
It was in the nick of time.
Only the stump of that shrine will remain
on the far side of the river.
He fills out his days staring
at the vista of his bulging idol of material stupidity.
Poor mother.
If Hell wants to take her on judgment day
does he think his great dome will stop the dark angel?
He sits on his bed on the top of this tower,
the breezes from his water conduits coursing around his neck,
looking at his Taj with the misty eyes of love ...
Intoxicated. Stupefied.
Like my brother – the one he would have made his heir.
But I cut him off. Oh,did I cut him off.
Pause. He releases the SAQI’s face.
Turns out.
All this description, you say. Past history.
Where’s the action? Where’s the drama?
This is my action. To make history stay put. Forever.
All great men want to solve the problem
of history’s endless leaking and bleeding.
Of its endless running. Like a burst blister.
Did you get that?
The SAQI waves his quill in the air.
No, Saqi. I am here to summon up the past.
Why did I seize the peacock throne from my father?
For the record, how did these things come about?
For posterity. Let it be known.
IT WAS BECAUSE OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN FAMILY!
I asked myself—what is to be done about this family?
And about this rotten slack liberal manner of rule?
Our whole line is defiled by this universal religion
dreamed up by the “Great” Akbar, my ancestor.
That’s it you see— it starts with my great grandfather.
Akbar. Oh, how his great name resonated.
Ak, ak, ak, bar bar bar the mag ni ni ni fi fi cent cent cent..
You know Saqi, how it all ended up
with Jahan. Opulence decay. And worse—
Dara Shikooh was the heir and the eldest son.
My beloved and darling innocent brother.
But alas — he was bent by demons.
And sister Jihanara the book-writer
she studied with men outside of our family,
sitting in meditation prescribed by the Qadiriya cult,
chanting all through the night.
What can one say? The scholars say she’s a … I dare not say it.
Worse—all morning long she writes books.
How can this family bear this shame.
A hand slams a book down on a neighboring table top.
JIHANARA in loose hijab and ascetic muslin emerges
from the center of her table.
AURANGZEB
Look, I’ve summoned her up. She’s back.
She’s spying again for the Qadiris you see.
Now, let’s play it out.
Let’s play it out so you can see these fools
with no interest in the Law —Saqi sit there and get this down.
JIHANARA
Aurangzeb you called me.
You’re disturbing my writing. What is it.
AURANGZEB
Scribbling away for eternity are you?
There are rumors about you Jihanara.
JIHANARA
Rumours. And you listen? My dear brother, the gossip...
AURANGZEB
You’re my sister. I keep my ears open. That’s all.
JIHANARA
Afraid of something? Why?
Did you not kill your greatest fear? Your own brother?
Like Cain?
AURANGZEB
Dara Shikooh, it was natural, wanted back
the power that was rightfully his.
JIHANARA
My poor brother was never suited for politics.
AURANGZEB
Well you’re coming around. Do you think so too?
JIHANARA
Not Dara Shikooh. I mean you.
Remember how you suspected me. How did you put it … ?
Go ahead, let’s play it out. You began with endearments …
AURANGZEB
Saqi, she wants to run through the events. Get it down.
Pause. Clears his throat.
“Listen sister, my dear one, heart of my heart.
You’re going to be put to the test.
I cannot afford to have disloyalty lodging near me.”
JIHANARA
“I lodge with my Lord. You have a lot of fears.”
AURANGZEB
“I have a right to them. I am the usurper of Hindustan.
I am the keeper of the fundamental Law.
I’ve imprisoned my father.
I have dispatched his heir and both little brothers.
Granted soon most people will understand
it was done for the good of the order.
I’m not a gilded rose.”
JIHANARA
“I’ll give you that. The rose part.”
AURENGZEB
“And I have so much trouble explaining myself.”
JIHANARA (her table rolls toward him.)
You like playing this all out again, don’t you brother?
The same old arguments forever.
Are you so insecure about your role
in bringing down enlightened Mughal rule
that we need these little performances
on and on and on in all this emptiness?
AURANGZEB
Let’s try this. Let’s conspire.
“I would like to have you on my side, Jihanara.”
JIHANARA
Oh God! Do I have to play roles in your little scenes?
AURANGZEB
It was your suggestion, darling sister.
For the sake of your failing memory.
JIHANARA
But you are always making changes in the script,
always editing history for posterity.
Making yourself out as something better and better.
Must I always be a prisoner in your historical revisions?
AURANGZEB
History is on a time table. It’s all fixed.
We are all locked in the tables of history.
Perhaps we can improvise a bit
but the essentials are immutable.
JIHANARA
Even if you wanted to move closer to the truth
I wouldn’t like it.
All these perpetual changes to the story of us.
AURANGZEB
Yes. Let’s play it out again.
For the sake of the family. In fact, I said to you:
“It would be better if family hung together.”
JIHANARA
“Will we all be hanging from the east Gate? Or the west gate?”
AURANGZEB
“What do you want from me, Jihanara?”
JIHANARA
“Aside from freeing Baba?”
AURANGZEB
“Shah Jahan has made his bed and is sleeping in it.”
JIHANARA
“He is a prisoner in his bed.”
(Pause.)
“Are you really hell-bent on your course of action?”
AURANGZEB
“I’m not the one who has been bent by hell here.
And Baba is only a prisoner in his bed.
I have been forced to my actions as a prisonerof history.”
JIHANARA
“Listen brother— don’t worry about me.
I will not remain among you here much longer.”
AURANGZEB
“Oh? Lovely, suicide
for the sake of your dear good-hearted father?”
JIHANARA (laughs)
“You would like to see me extinguished, wouldn’t you?
Oh no, my dear, you have got it all wrong.
My teacher Mullah Shah has given the word
that I qualify to succeed him.”
Pause.
AURANGZEB (laughs)
“You? So now you’re going to be a master of mystics?
Or should I say mistress?
Mistress of the masters of mystics—I like that”.
JIHANARA
“Reflect on how you talk to me.
I have responsibilities beyond that of any king or politician.”
AURANGZEB (thunders)
“What has happened to motherhood?
What’s wrong with that?
What about setting the example of loyal marriage,
Is this what the people need to see you doing? What about—”
JIHANARA
“What if that is not the path marked out for me?”
AURANGZEB
“—moral examples? The ridiculous notions of these women—”
JIHANARA
“I have been honored by a great master—”
AURANGZEB
“—who think they can change universal laws—”
JIHANARA
“Which universal laws! Who were the first counselors
Of the community of the faith. Khadija—”
AURANGZEB
“It’s set down for all time, immutable, unchangeable—”
JIHANARA
“Khadija and then Aisha, the first counselors were—”
AURANGZEB
“They were wives!”
JIHANARA
“—women!”
Pause.
DARA SHIKOOH emerges from the center of his table.
He gazes about, a look of astonishment.
ARAUNGZEB
Are these disputes going to go on forever?
Weren’t they resolved and shunted off
into history somewhere?
JIHANARA
I assure you, they will be unending.
as long as abide here in this ignorance.
DARAH SHIKOOH rises up from the center of his table on
the opposite side.
DARA SHIKOOH
You have awakened me from my meditations.
AURANGZEB
Well.. Back from the dead.
Still devoted to your fakir practices? In this abyss?
DARA SHIKOOH
They are healthy exercises of the mind.
AURANGZEB
Hindu exercises.
DARA SHIKOOH
I prefer to call it the yoga of Abraham.
AURANGZEB
You send chills up my spine.
DARA SHIKOOH
Chakras.
AURANGZEB
Chakras! You speak of chakras!
DARA SHIKOOH
My apologies. Let me use our terminology and call them “latifa.”
Why did you wake me? Or I should say
why did you bring me back to sleep
from my awakeness?
To the SAQI / SCRIBE
I’d like pen and paper please!
The SAQI / SCRIBE brings him quill and paper and
the pitcher.
No wine! I need my mind pristine.
AURANGZEB
So you think you are sleeping when you enter the court?
When you enter here you enter reality.
JIHANARA
That’s you! You still think you are at court
But you are floating on the dream of history
DARA SHIKOOH
When I enter the rooms of my family’s palace
I am walking into a nightmare.
The sleeper’s consolation is that these things are dreams.
They pass.
AURANGZEB
You think the slightest unpleasantness is a dream.
and you expected to run the empire?
DARA SHIKOOH
I had everything I wanted.
AURANGZEB
Don’t bore me with that.
You told your army to fight mine, and you will pay.
“You will pay!” That’s what I said, at the time.
Before the end I had you all under house arrest.
Come, play it out with me now.
“No wish to see Shah Jahan again?”
DARA SHIKOOH
Very well. It’s all nothing but a great spectacle.
“I have patience. I am sure to see my father.
Our father that is.”
AURANGZEB
“Well you can’t see him.”
Pause.
That’s how the conversation went.
Or something to the effect.
We’ll skip to the next exchange of significance.
So … I asked:
“Where are your soldiers?”
DARA SHIKOOH
“They are, most of them, away at Hazrat Nizamudin,
celebrating the Saint’s wedding with death.”
AURANGZEB
“These people talk like death is the good life.
Death is the end of all politics and conversation.”
Pause.
Perhaps I was somewhat off the mark on that point.
“Your saint didn’t get married on this day. He died. It’s not his birthday.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“You don’t understand. One celebrates all three on one day.
Birthday, wedding, beginning of a journey. Now that is festive.
AURANGZEB
“And what are they doing at the shrine? Dancing to music?”
DARA SHIKOOH
“Dancing on the bones of those who danced before them.”
AURANGZEB
“Have you followed the rulings on men and women together.
Is there partition?”
DARA SHIKOOH (shows mock shock. Then:)
“Not possible. It would not have suited the Hindus and their families.”
AURANGZEB
“Families? .... HINDOOS? ... The jurists call that unnatural mixing.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“The sitar player is Hindu this year.
Look, Kushru, may have invented the sitar
to sing his love poems to Nizamuddin
but the Hindus have made it their own.
It plays only Indian modes.
The best sitar players now are Hindus.”
AURANGZEB
“Unnatural mixing.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“I’ll tell you what, you deal with the Law
I’ll deal with the music.”
AURANGZEB
“Finally you grasp it.
Music and the Law are mutually exclusive.”
DARA SHIKOOH (sees Jihanara.)
I have neglected to pay respects to my sister.
Jihanara, are you replaying our arguments
with our brother too?
My dear you are so wan.
JIHANARA
I have died my darling.
AURANGZEB
The two of you always trailed about each other.
What did you talk about all those years?
JIHANARA
Poetry, the divine Beloved and chess.
AURANGZEB
“Sister,” I said. “I must have a word with you
before you depart to your master.
Let this brother of ours sit here and contemplate
the things he has never accomplished”
JIHANARA
Because you took his head, you mean?
JIHANARA disappears into the table.
AURANGZEB
I am talking about then! Not now! Then! …
She got away. I shall get her back. My brother, you were always
musing on the sun and the moon, lost in thoughts. So you lost your empire.
Saqi. Record his musings for posterity. (Pause.) For eternity.
AURANGZEB descends the throne and leaves.
DARA SHIKOOH (Left alone with the SAQI).
Yes he’s right. You put it down for me.
Dead men don’t compose on paper.
Signals for the SAQI to draw near. Then, whispering.
To begin: I am blessed by the holiest of all things.
I spent my life digging, and what I have uncovered
is light pure light the highest light of the world.
He begins spinning, himself and his table with him.
Or perhaps only in the center of the table.
Periodically he stops when his thoughts sober him.
It is the light upon light of our being
and the light of our non-being as well.
I have had in my possession
the first of all the celestial books
We must praise these People of the Book
among whom we govern. These Hindu subjects.
The saints of their faith predicted our own faith
and even the prophets of the Torah
and the Messiah and saints of the Gospels.
I read these divine texts and at once I heard a voice
crying out: “How could this have happened!”
Well, it was my own voice,
But forced out by the thrust of an inner arrow
of fabulous golden glowing discovery
I read each day, drank the wine
fell over drunk with these words
these calm arguments and logic beyond logic
these pointers paradoxes impossible thoughts
revealing the collapse of this existence
this shadow play of non-being
and I was thrown off the lap of existence itself
until I was nowhere in the midst of All.
These fifty Upanishad books of India —
I call them in Persian the Oupnekhat
How could it be possible that the highest Islam
could have been known millennia before us.
The purpose of surrender lies here
It has always been here.
Did Akbar know this when he created
his all-embracing religion
and brought the gurus into our council?
Did he know that this strange word “Upanishads”
included the lost texts of the divine vision?
I have almost completed translating those fifty books.
I have given orders for a new translation:
The Bhagavad Gita ... though it has been done once.
I don’t know what I shall call it for Muslims.
The Mir’aht al-haqq’iq?
Which of course was used before:
an entirely warped translation that was.
Now that book tells of the end of the Path.
It is the greatest mystic commentary on the Way
of times past present and future.
I shall find a suitable name for it.
Words count.
He spins in his table again. Then:
He descends into his table and vanishes.
The SAQI is disturbed by these last words.
*
AURANGZEB returns to the throne, looks about.
Is relieved to see that DARA SHIKOOH is gone.
Signals the Saqi to return to his cushion.
AURAUNGZEB
Good. All clear. Get this down.
Time to conclude my justification to history.
Those other brothers of mine ... my little brothers
What right did they have to attack from Bengal
to attack from Kabul, against the rightful heir
Dara Shikooh?. What colossal self-smashing idiots.
Talk about dirty politics.
But they helped sap the blood of Dara’s loyal troops.
The favorite son was run down.
As well as the khafirs and non-believers who fought for him.
I have a certain enduring belief about the future.
“One day on this earth there will be
nothing to look upon but men of my faith.”
I quote myself, my best source. Put that in the notes.
No, perhaps I should modify. It pays to think flexibly.
Either we will have that
or there should be nothing to look upon at all.
Why should things exist without my faith.
JIHANARA rises from her table..
JIHANARA
Remember the tradition:
I was a hidden treasure and wanted—
AURANGZEB
That’s why true soldiers look on them as less than human
JIHANARA
—to be known, and so I—
AURANGZEB
If we could we would make their ways disappear from view
JIHANARA
—created Creation in order to be known.
AURANGZEB
We took our troops down to the birth place
of their god at Mathura—
JIHANARA
—so God is behind your eyes, their eyes—
AURANGZEB
—this god born as a man—
JIHANARA
The delusion that your enemies are evil
is the creator—
AURANGZEB
—and plowed under the temple—
JIHANARA
—o f evil. My master said—
AURANGZEB
—and built a tribute to God
on the mound of the dead idols.
DARA SHIKOOH emerges quickly, like a jack-in-the-box..
DARA SHIKOOH
GOD SHOULD NOT BE BURIED
NOT EVEN UNDER A HOUSE OF WORSHIP!
AURANGZEB
Whose God? What god?
JIHANARA
You speak of something you cannot put in a category.
AURANGZEB
Syncretic shit. Tolerance, tolerance! God help me.
Look, our father forced one of the best imams of our time
to translate these epics about barbarian divinities—
Rama and Sita, Krishna and Arjuna—
and the whole pantheon of these obscene fairytales
in which a god or the God descends to earth as a great lover.
This man, purest of souls
had to gag himself and translate kafir books.
Now that pious man’s hatred of Jahan knows no bounds.
He is full of bile and fears he’ll vomit
in the throne room or council chamber.
He has an ulcer that bleeds from his rectum
and through his teeth at the same time.
He has had several strokes and has lost
partial use of his face.
By forcing “tolerance” on a man,
and depriving him of his righteousness
you can make him severely sick.
DARA SHIKOOH
“Paradise is the place where there is no cleric!”
I quote myself. It’s true! Ha ha ha.
AURANGZEB
Strike that from the record.
DARA SHIKOOH
You can’t strike that. It is real history.
AURANGZEB
If we had true religious law
that would be enough to have you quartered.
DARA SHIKOOH
If we had clerics’ laws, you mean.
And by the way, in case you’ve forgotten
you did do just that.
AURANGZEB
You always trumpet your hatred of the religious rulers.
DARA SHIKOOH
I prefer spiritual souls to religious men.
AURANGZEB
These gnostics. They are women.
Knocking comes from somewhere in the floor, or in the
wall, or on the ceiling. AURANGZEB and JIHANARA look
about perplexed.
DARA SHIKOOH
“Paradise is at the feet of Mothers” I quote the holy ...
AURANGZEB
Would you stop preaching to me
about where heaven is and is not!
DARA SHIKOOH
I thought you liked preachers.
AURANGZEB
The gnostics do nothing.
They flinch at violence.
They have no stomach for holy war.
The holy warriors prove their faith in the highest way.
What is a gnostic anyway!
DARA SHIKOOH
“The gnostic is like a lion
who eats only what she herself has killed,
not like the fox who lives off the scraps of others’ conquests.”
Pause.
I quote myself. I really did say that.
Put that in the notes, Saqi.
Pause.
Let’s play again: “Listen, wasn’t I supposed to be king?”
AURANGZEB
“You would have been if you’d trained to be king.
Jahan let you off your obligation to study warfare,
So you could immerse yourself in poetry, in meditation.
And you go to seek teachings from that drop-out from existence,
Mian Mir—and his sister! His SISTER!
You sat at the feet of Bibi Jamal, a woman!
You took teaching from a hotbed of evil.
Your seed has been boiled and drained by a vampire woman.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“I took only warriors for teachers.”
AURANGZEB
“One affront after another.”
DARA SHIKOOH
Let’s stop a moment. Nothing I said meant harm.
I never wanted your head ... in particular.
AURANGZEB
And what about your actions?
DARA SHIKOOH
What actions?
AURANGZEB
Actions. Behavior. Indiscretions.
Example: Do you recall my outrage when I asked.
“Who is this naked Jew
you have wandering around your corridors?”
DARA SHIKOOH
Oh yes … “He is one of the greatest intellects of Persia.”
AURANGZEB
“He lives like a dog.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“He studied Christianity as a young man,
and converted to our religion in middle age.”
AURANGZEB
“That Jew is an animal in my estimation.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“Scripture calls Jews People of the Book.”
AURANGZEB
“You call everyone ‘People of the Book!’
If all people are People of the Book,
then why do we need the true religion?”
DARA SHIKOOH
“To try to keep the standards high?”
AURANGZEB
“If everybody qualifies as ‘people of the book,’
then what idols are there to be torn down?
What heresy is there to combat?
What enemies of God to put down?”
DARA SHIKOOH
I hadn’t thought of that.
AURANGZEB
Listen. If Jews are people of the Book,
and Christians are people of the Book—
DARA SHIKOOH
It’s in the sacred scirptures—
AURANGZEB
—and now Hindus are people of the Book,
what about Zoroastrians?
DARA SHIKOOH
The Avesta is revealed scripture. People of the Book.
AURANGZEB
The Buddhists, whose temples now lie in ruins —
DARA SHIKOOH
Their texts are carved on columns throughout the country,
by the order of Emperor Ashoka two thousand years ago.
Most of their book was transmitted orally
by devoted monks trained in their minds.
AURANGZEB
Ashoka. Akbar wanted to be Ashoka all over again.
What about the shamanists?
DARA SHIKOOH
Their book is constantly being read,
but never written down.
AURANGZEB
The animists.
DARA SHIKOOH
They read the book of nature.
AURANGZEB
The Franks, with their icons.
DARA SHIKOOH
They are in love with the Messiah.
He is only an idol of their love.
AURANGZEB
People of the Book?
DARA SHIKOOH
Yes.
AURANGZEB
And the Ethiopeans.
DARA SHIKOOH
They are safe-keepers of the ark of the covenant. The book.
AURANGZEB
The followers of Mani?
DARA SHIKOOH
The Book.
AURANGZEB
The Krishna worshippers.
DARA SHIKOOH
The Book. Clearly, the book.
You will see when the fifty books I translated —
AURANGZEB
The followers of Osiris.
DARA SHIKOOH
The book. They resurrect him in drama.
AURANGZEB
The cult of Baal.
DARA SHIKOOH.
Book.
AURANGZEB
Platonists, your favorite.
DARA SHIKOOH
Book. Pure book. Nothing but book.
AURANGZEB
The Chinese alchemists.
DARA SHIKOOH
Taoists. Book. Tao-te-Ching.
AURANGZEB
Book.
DARA SHIKOOH
Book.
AURANGZEB
The Mithraists.
DARA SHIKOOH
Book. Book.
AURANGZEB
Who is left?
DARA SHIKOOH
The Malimatiyah.
AURANGZEB
Book?
DARA SHIKOOH
The same book as us. Blasphemer.
AURANGZEB
Who doesn’t adhere to the Book!
DARA SHIKOOH
Some of the those who love to call themselves religious.
AURANGZEB
I beg your pardon?
DARA SHIKOOH
The ones who deny the principle of the people of the Book.
AURANGZEB
Then there are no heretics?
DARA SHIKOOH
Oh no, there are plenty.
AURANGZEB
Good. Because if there weren’t,
what meaning would there be in spreading the religion?
DARA SHIKOOH
I don’t know. Everything’s part of creation.
Are you a dualist?
AURANGZEB
I believe in heaven and hell. Is that dualism?
DARA SHIKOOH
Did you hear about the people who wanted paradise
and the people who dove into the fire?
AURANGZEB
Oh no. God help me, not a parable!
DARA SHIKOOH
There was a great tree.
On one side were burning flames
which could annihilate a man in seconds.
On the other were the cooling waters.
On the one side,
there were people prepared to dive into the flames.
The others thought them crazy
but they jumped in the fire and they popped up
in the cool waters. The others, however, thought
only of getting to the waters of paradise.
They dove in there. They came up on the other side
screaming in the flames.
AURANGZEB
So people should not aspire to paradise?
DARA SHIKOOH
I have nothing against paradise. But it’s a dangerous distraction.
There is a knocking once again from a floor or wall.
The others look about, perplexed. Then:
AURANGZEB
This is beyond my patience. We had this argument before.
It was our defintive falling out.
I am sure you won’t object if our scribe
Gets down the other words we exchanged then.
DARA SHIKOOH
No. But I may have forgotten my lines.
AURANGZEB
Try. “Now I’ll let you in on a secret.
I have been playing the Turkish Sultan.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“How so?”
AURANGZEB
“Out there in the dark room are sitting judges
eavesdropping. Masters of jurisprudence
evaluating every word you have said.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“It doesn’t matter. In my heart
is recorded everything I have done.
and it will play back like music for eternity
where the Truth echoes timelessly
in the radiant emptiness of now.”
Pause.
“Let Samad be my advocate with the judges.”
AURANGZEB
“Who is Samad?”
DARA SHIKOOH
“The naked Jew.”
A silence. Then:
AURANGZEB (long raucous laughter)
“Superb. Have him wear an ironed loin cloth
when he appears in court, for your own sake.
He must pick his fleas before he addresses
the tribunal. Now I must sleep.
I will dream of how I will have you quartered.”
Pause.
Though this all happened long ago
I must relive it as an accurate decription of this man’s future.
It gives me the delightful sensation that I am making
an accurate prophesy.
He—perhaps with the throne—somehow disappears.
JIHANARA emerges, looks about, signals conspiratorially
to the SAQI who also looks about, and stops writing.
JIHANARA (whispers to DARAH SHIKOOH..)
Do you recall the parts we played together?
You were giving up. I asked you ...
“Don’t you want to rule?”
DARA SHIKOOH
“Not possible. It is not to be.”
JIHANARA
“Many people are with you.
You could reestablish the council.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“Right now, opening the Council of All Religions
would bring down the iron heel on all of you.”
JIHANARA
“Among the officers are many who will support you.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“Only until it looks like we might lose.”
JIHANARA
“It can happen. In Istanbul
the Janissaries have brought down a Sultan.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“They made the mistake of letting dervishes
Educate the Janissaries. We have no elite guard of that sort.”
The SAQI stands. Signals to JAHANARA.
Holds up a vial.
JAHANARA
“Listen to me. One must act. We have poison.
The Saqi has prepared the wine for your brother.”
DARA SHIKOOH
“I let my men enter into killing. It was a mistake.
Some old Guru taught me this practice of non-harm.”
JIHANARA
“You’re afraid to unleash more blood-letting.
There are some who are steady in their love of India.
Even in a corrupt palace there are sound hearts.
Saqi, prepare the poison cup.”
The SAQI pours a vial into a beaker.
DARA SHIKOOH
If the heart of a religion freezes for hundreds of years
its body may still live and act
in endless ignorance without that heart.
It is too bad. This is a miracle often performed by religions.
The knocking comes again, louder than the previous times.
The others look about.
MUMTEZ MAHAL bursts through the plaster in the wall,
or the floor down center. Or from the wall.
She drops a chisel and hamer on the floor.
Though she may be a beauty, she has the look of marble
and plaster, including her face.
MUMTEZ MAHAL stares at them, slightly disoriented
but intense. They stare back.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Oh my children. Oh! So much wind up here.
JIHANARA
Mother.
The SAQI rises with the beaker.
Not her. Don’t poison her. She’s dead.
That is, even before we were dead
she was our dead mother.
DARA SHIKOOH
Mother, we weren’t expecting you.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
The earth is shaking, history is shaking.
Where is oh! where is that younger brother of yours
Call him up here because oh! I must talk him down.
This bickering must stop. Where’s your father?
JIHANARA
He is love sick for you
he has lost himself.
Aurangzeb has put him under house arrest
in a bed looking out on your Taj.
MUMTEZ
You uh well you may say your father’s incapacitated
but it’s not— no its not due to love.
In this earthbound life
Oh, I was your father’s beloved.
And he offered to knot the Himalayas into a string of pearls
and conquer them only for the sake of making me jewels.
Yes he was attendant on me every waking day.
His love knew no limits
in religion or outside religion.
The waters of the river flowed through our veins
and oh the singing of boatmen hummed in our ears.
Though he pushed out the borders of empire in his youth
all reasons for conquest had vanished
because you see those boatmen could sing so well.
Imams, Brahmins and yogis blessed you and all
his children. We were fortunate.
The banyan trees put down roots in the fortress
and oh we planted gardens of every kind.
I am having the hardest time talking …
MUMTEZ MAHAL goes into a freeze. A silence.
DARA and JIHANARA look at one another, and back to
her.
She revives.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Your Saqi has not served me
or recorded a single one of my words.
The SAQI raises his pitcher questioningly.
JIHANARA
The Saqi will not be serving you.
The Saqi was alive at the time of the events.
You were not. You were a tomb.
You’ve always been known as a tomb.
A great big beautiful tomb.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
I don’t exist on the same plane as these people?
JIHANARA
You are memorialized forever. They will be forgotten.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Oh. Memorialized. Oh.
And now that I am gone, I see him over there
the emperor too sentimental and so sick.
He should raise an army for love
but instead he gazes out at this Taj
and drinks the sweetness of his perfect meeting with love.
He is stuck yes I see that he is stuck.
JIHANARA
He should raise an army against egotism and greed
and conquest and ambition
and sycophancy and idolatry
and the animal soul and the compulsive self.
But he himself suffered from all those maladies.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Yes but yes he should ride in the chariot against
our pious priestly power-mad son
But oh! he will not I can assure you
for he has lost the discipline of love which
raised the Taj from the soil of chaos.
But to be stuck ...
She goes into a freeze.
AURANGZEB (reappears on the throne.)
Dear imperial royal mother.
You were once young with a ripe womb.
But you are known in history as a dead woman.
You are a tomb.
JIHANARA
Womb, tomb. One leads to the other.
She whispers.
Saqi!
The SAQI rises with the wine pitcher.
MUMTEZ MAHAL (unfreezes. The SAQI sits.)
Aurangzeb! You like building your house of worship
on the temples of your enemies!
Your imagined enemies!
That is not what our religion means.
In five hundred years your enemies will therefore
Continue to exist to attack your structures
and your structures will be treated without mercy
and their protectors too
You have tapped into the energies of destruction
using the most beautiful forms
the architecture of the house of God.
AURANGZEB
The voice of architecture herself speaks!
When your name is uttered all people see is marble.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Ho ho you think ah your actions are definitive
And after time they do no harm,
but they exist and exist and will never go away.
For hundreds of years to come
These dark energies will savage us all
like dogs around the liver of a burned Ganges carcass.
This is oh no! not a curse or prediction
just—well— profound common sense
All my visions come from common sense.
AURANGZEB
None of that will happen
if every soul who follows in my footsteps
stays on the true and narrow path of the one true faith..
MUMTEZ MAHAL
What is that faith.
AURANGZEB
Mine.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
The real name of our faith is “surrender” and you have forgotten.
When will you stop your bellyaching.
To the SAQI/SCRIBE
Get that down, Saqi. Write. Oh ho, you write that now!
The SAQI returns to his pen.
DARA SHIKOOH
The dead can see in all directions
past and future too.
AURANGZEB
There is no vision in the female species.
He begins coughing.
JIHANARA
Saqi! My brother can’t take so much annoyance.
Quench his thirst.
The SAQI rises with thepitcher and goblet.
MUMTEZ MAHAL comes out of her freeze.
MUMTEZ MAHAL
Oh! And one more thing.
Dara Shikooh’s work will never end
he will die and it will take on life
and his fifty mystic books will spread
through Islam in Persian
and Annequon Duperron
a French scholar of the Avestas
will read them and translate them to Latin
and the first Europeans will encounter
the mind of the East
and a Shaikh named Schopenhauer will keep
the fifty books in Latin by his bed
to go to sleep by each night
“They have been the solace of my life
and they will be the solace of my death”
he will say as his maid turns off his lamp
and oh the light will stay on
and melancholy Germans will write mystic plays
and one day a famous swami will be invited to speak on
the living Upanishads at a parliament of religions
in a— my God— city called ... Chicago? ...
To the SAQI, pours a goblet for Auranngzeb.
Stands.
Would you sit down, I am talking! Oh!!
SAQI returns to his place.
And oh and then a pipe smoking Englishman
will write a book on perennial philosophy
citing the fifty books from India and Jihanara’s teachers
and oh and then some skinny Englishman
—after the English have given up the empire
that will destroy your own my dear devastating son—
will pick up a sitar and make strange sounds
with his famous ensemble who play on a rock
—am I getting this right? My vision is blurry—
Suddenly all the western boys
will grow their hair long and wear Hindustani clothes
and look for gurus and oh and ultimate things
and the Japanese will get into it
and go west with their Buddha monks
and there will be dancing and long boring sitting
Phillip Glass will compose many arpeggios
and everyone will be searching
and trying to define consciousness
getting over illusion and dying in harmony.
She goes in a freeze. Pause. She revives.
That’s it. That’s all my common sense
tells me today. I am tired in my tomb
I have blown out the fires of my spirit engine.
She goes into a freeze.
AURANGZEB
Look at her. All the world was obsessed with her.
JIHANARA
I have my own beloved.
AURANGZEB
Yes. Your motherly concerns with the Sultan are suspect.
JIHANARA
That’s not what I ... What do you mean?
AURANGZEB
I mean they are more motherly than filial
and more wifely than motherly.
JIHANARA
You don’t think such things of me
you just say them.
AURANGZEB
I have not only said it to you.
I have said it to a great many other people.
And a great many other people have said it back to me.
Now there will always be people who whisper about you.
I win.
JIHANARA
What are you trying to do?
AURANGZEB (to SAQI)
Tear that last part out. I didn’t know you were still writing.
Tear it out you simpleminded dog!
JIHANARA
Saqi. A drink for your Shah Aurengzeb, he’s dry.
The SAQI rises.
AURANGZEB (to JIHANARA)
I created history before I could be judged.
I seized control and carried out my will. For I said
“I will place Dara’s head streaming blood
in the portals of Agra for his heresy
while jackals chew his bones in the dump.”
DARA SHIKOOH (spins in his table.)
Saqi! Sit down! Never stand for such men.
Glory be to Truth! Glory, glory!
The SAQI returns to his cushion.
AURANGZEB
Listen to that! Will you listen to that?
DARA SHIKOOH (spinning.)
Oh Truth. Oh God. Oh Truth!
JIHANARA
He is content. To be content is to live eternally.
AURANGZEB
Those who are content do not make history.
MUMTEZ MAHAL (unfreezing)
Those who serve nothing but history dwell in –
She goes back into a freeze.
JIHANARA
Hell.
AURANGZEB
Look around you. Where do you think we are?
JIHANARA
I am not where you are. You cannot touch me.
AURANGZEB
And where are you?
JIHANARA
Where? I will be anywhere – where you are not.
AURANGZEB
Look at our brother. Do you see the blood where his head came off.
DARA SHIKOOH (spinning.)
Look up there. What a beautiful moon.
In this light you can dance.
A saber descends over the head of DARA SHIKOOH. He
spins.
__________________
FAITH: PART 2
SAADI, a street vendor of rugs, hats and scarves
JOHN B, evangelical relief organizer
CHRISTIANE, a Catholic disaster relief consultant
ILANA, a graduate student returning from Israel
A WAITRESS
___________________________________________________
The present. An eastern American city.
The set is empty except for round outdoor cafe tables in the foreground at left, one
with a sun umbrella passing up through the large hole in the center, the other with no
umbrella (The tables from part one, re-dressed with white tablecloths.) There is a
large wooden framed structure, with nothing on it for the moment, at center (The
throne from part one, redressed with merchants goods). It serves as a sidewalk
merchant’s booth during the day. Next to it a large pile of old blankets and kilims,
rugs, shawls.
SCENE 1.
ILANA enters, a dark-haired young woman wearing a
backpack and pulling a roll-on suitcase. She appears lost,
and more than that, disoriented. She pulls out a map.
ILANA
Union Street. It’s supposed to be here. Let’s see ... Right on fortieth ... Left on thirty
ninth.
Pause.
Right on fortieth, left on thirty ninth? Oh God, this is useless. Directions from a dimwit.
The blankets begin moving. Slowly a figure emerges. Bit by bit SAADI GULSHAN
emerges, takes out a bottle of water. He is bearded, with Himalayan wool cap, long
shirt and long grey woollen vest, sandals. He might just as well be from the 14th
century. He splashes water from the bottle on his face. Goes off stage.
ILANA sits on her suitcase, looks around. Looks at the
map.
ILANA
Gone half way around the world, and now—fucking lost in my own country.
CHRISTIANE enters, with a briefcase. Stops when she
sees
ILANA looking at her map.
CHRISTIANE
Can I help you find something?
ILANA
Oh yes. Thank-you. I’m looking for Union Street.
CHRISTIANE
Union Street. If you just continue straight ahead, you’ll make a right on fortieth, and
then make a left on thirty ninth.
ILANA (startled)
Really? ... Right on fortieth, then left on forty-ninth ... ?
CHRISTIANE
Yes ... What’s the problem?
ILANA
I just thought the layout of the city would ... have a normal logic to it. So then I guess I
take another right on thirty eighth and another on thirty seventh?
CHRISTIANE
But ... then you’d be going in a circle.
ILANA
That’s what I’m doing. This city has no center to it. How can you have a city with no
center.
CHRISTIANE
It’s just that thirty ninth veers north. It’s not straight. Are you all right?
ILANA
Oh, it’s my head. That is, jet lag. I just landed.
CHRISTIANE
You’ve never been here before?
ILANA
Long ago. I booked a stopover on the East coast before I go home to New Mexico.
CHRISTIANE
Where are you coming from?
ILANA
Israel.
CHRISTIANE
I was in Israel.
ILANA
Really?
CHRISTIANE
Eight years ago. One of the great experiences of my life. I walked the Via Dolorosa.
SAADI returns with a few more folded rugs, kilims, and
silk shawls which he begins to hang from the upper
wooden two by fours. He goes in and out until he has
set up his entire booth, with hats, scarves, silks, etc. As
a final touch he puts a big American flag across the top.
ILANA and CHRISTIANE continue during this time.
ILANA
Do you live here?
CHRISTIANE
No. I come to here for conferences. It’s part of my job to attend conferences.
ILANA
That’s your job?
CHRISTIANE
Half of it. This week I’m here for the interfaith aid conference. It’s going on in the
Hilton. Over there.
ILANA
Right there? God. Have they got rooms? I don’t have the energy to find this address.
CHRISTIANE
I’m sure they do. Do you want me to go with you to the desk? You look exhausted.
ILANA
What am I thinking. The Hilton’s way too expensive. I’ll find this place. (Pause.) You’
re a missionary?
CHRISTIANE
I work in disaster relief.
ILANA
Ah, does that mean you ... What kind of disasters?
CHRISTIANE
Yes. You know. In developing countries. There are many kinds.
ILANA
Yes. That’s very true.
She looks dazed again.
So I go this way? Right on thirty ninth?
CHRISTIANE
That’s right.
ILANA
Well, thanks. Goodbye.
CHRISTIANE
Goodbye. Very nice to meet you.
ILANA goes.
CHRISTIANE looks at her watch. Then she looks at
Saadi’s stand.
He looks at her. She at him. She looks away. Looks at
her watch.
JOHN B enters.
JOHN B
There you are. Sorry to keep you waiting.
CHRISTIANE
Finally. Well, shall we have our lunch?
JOHN B (looks at his watch)
Not now. That is, not if we want to catch the plenary session.
CHRISTIANE
Not now then.
JOHN B
No. Not now. Later, okay?
CHRISTIANE
No. I don’t think so.
JOHN B
Christiane.
CHRISTIANE
It’s a mistake to even try this.
JOHN B
We’re at the same conference for Chrissake.
CHRISTIANE
Right John B, an interfaith conference. Like the old days.
JOHN B
That’s right
CHRISTIANE
But it’s not like before, is it. It can’t ever be like before.
JOHN B
Listen, reasonable people like you and I, they can reach a certain understanding. That
understanding is not at the mercy of petty derangements like missing a lunch.
CHRISTIANE
Petty derangements.
Pause.
If you really believe that I can talk to you after the years of petrified relations, and all
those broken emotional ribs you gave me—that’s fine. If it’s possible for you to get
past the “derangements” to focus only on a profound understanding, then go ahead.
But sometimes, I’ve got to say ... the most abominable person to hang out with is
someone with whom you have the most in common. It feels like a curse. When two
people are too alike. But just enough unlike, that the difference arouses an intense
loathing and the wish to blow the birds out of the sky and crash a car. We are so alike
that I don’t know if having lunch even is possible, even if you didn’t, typically for you,
decide to throw obstacles in the way. Instead, I feel like beating your head in with that
“No Parking or Standing” sign behind your shoulder. Or perhaps you could do it to
me. You’ve done it before. Metaphorically. Would that be more satisfying than
lunch? A little mutual bludgeoning? What do you say.
A silence.
JOHN B
We’re out on the street Christiane.
CHRISTIANE
On the street.
JOHN B
I mean, if people heard you talking this way out of context they would—
CHRISTIANE
Oh. So we are on the street. How rude of me. You turned me down for lunch on the
street, did you not. Just now?
JOHN B
Calm down. I mean, we can’t have a therapy session out here. This is the street.
CHRISTIANE
You’re not the least bit interested in talking honestly. That’s what you’re afraid of.
There’s always some excuse. Go to the plenary John B. Get lost. God bless you.
ILANA returns.
ILANA
Oh I’m glad you’re still here. I decided maybe I should take a room in the Hilton you
were talking about. Just one night. My head is exploding. I’ve got jet lag.
CHRISTIANE
Sure, come along with me. I have a plenary session.
Pause.
Listen, you can share my room, if you like. We have three beds, there’s an extra.
JOHN B
Who’s this?
CHRISTIANE
A girl from the Holy Land. We just met.
ILANA
I’m Ilana.
JOHN B
Happy to meet you. I am John B. Christiane and I are attending the same conference.
What faction are you with?
ILANA
Oh, I am not part of the conference.
JOHN B
I mean, in the Holy Land.
ILANA
I’m not with a faction.
JOHN B
Jewish, Muslim, Orthodox, Coptic, Catholic?
ILANA
Kabbalist.
Pause.
Behind them SAADI puts his hand in the air. It’s starting
to ain.
He produces some umbrellas for sale.
JOHN B
Do you live over there?
ILANA
I have been. Living there. Until .... yesterday.
JOHN B
Then you’ve been witness to the ... unfortunate recent events.
ILANA
Witness. Yes.
JOHN B
So much evil is done in the name of religions. A great paradox. I mean, you would
know.
CHRISTIANE
John B, I’m going to take Ilana to the hotel and check her into my room.
JOHN B
She’s Jewish, Christiane.
Christiane has taken Ilana’s roll-on luggage and starts to
go.
Perhaps you didn’t understand me. She is Jewish.
CHRISTIANE (stops)
I have no idea what you mean to say. It’s starting to rain. Let’s go, Ilana.
ILANA
Wait a minute. What the hell does that mean. Where does he get off making an
observation like that.
JOHN B
I didn’t say anything. Except that you are Jewish. You are Jewish, I’d guess?
ILANA
And, so …?
JOHN B
Well then, that’s all.
CHRISTIANE
Ilana, this man helps shepherd an evangelical flock, somewhere out in the midlands.
They find Jewish people fascinating. They see so few exotic and different types of
people in their lives.
SAADI
Hello. Do you want to buy an umbrella? The rain is starting.
JOHN B
Christiane, there’s no need—
CHRISTIANE
John B, don’t start your stuff. Don’t say another word. Keep your mouth shut, and
speak no evil!
JOHN B
We can have lunch tomorrow Christiane.
CHRISTIANE
Screw you and go to hell, you goddamned stuck up shit-faced evangelical pharisee!
SAADI steps forward, holds out his hands.
SAADI
Everything is fine. Everything is fine. Lady ... don’t worry.
CHRISTIANE
Everything is not fine. How the hell would you know. (Thinking better of it.)
Sorry. Sir, I did not mean to take my problems out on you. This is a friendly fight.
SAADI
Friendly fight? You see, everything is fine.
CHRISTIANE
I imagine you’ve seen some fighting in your time.
SAADI
I have seen fights. Not friendly.
JOHN B
Who is he?
CHRISTIANE
Buy a kilim John. This man is one of mine.
ILANA
I’m still here. I want to know. What was this “Jewish” observation about?
JOHN B
I made no “Jewish” observation. I mean, I didn’t mean to make an observation.
ILANA
You’re supposed to be at some interfaith conference, and you are commenting on who
is Jewish?
JOHN B
I made no comment.
Pause.
Listen. My attitude is ... The Jews are not wayward religion, as some would have us
believe. It’s not true that they don’t embrace the same God. It is not true that they
murdered our Lord. They are people of God. They only need to be perfected.
ILANA
What’s new, right?
JOHN B
You’ve misunderstood me. This was my point. There are three beds in her room. The
other one is occupied by a woman from Palestine.
CHRISTIANE
John B. I had forgotten how relentlessly you appall me.
To Ilana.
I apologize for my mindless interfaith friend.
To John B.
Do you live in the same century as the rest of us?
JOHN B
I am not being understood here. Jews are good people. But a Palestinian might ask —
living under the guns of the Jewish state day in day out – I’m searching for the right
words here — what does Judaism currently have to offer anybody?
ILANA
I don’t know. Moses?
JOHN B
Sorry. That came out wrong. But, now Moses. My understanding is that – that wasn’t
the Jews. Those were the Hebrews. If you check your history, the rabbinical religion
we call Judaism came later.
ILANA
Really.
SAADI begins singing in a Persian mode. The others turn
to look at him.
Once he has their attention:
SAADI
Moses is the stem. Jesus is the bud. Muhammad is the flower. Peace upon them.
You could use an umbrella.
A silence.
CHRISTIANE
The keynote speech is in half an hour.
JOHN B
I’ll meet you there. I’d like to talk more with Ms Ilana. It seems I’ve fouled things up
here. It’s not my intention. I ...
CHRISTIANE
Enough John. So you don’t do any more damage. See you at dinner.
JOHN
Where is dinner?
CHRISTIANE
Same place as breakfast. Unless you want to meet at the café there. If you do –
maybe I’ll see you then.
______________________________________________
SCENE 2
Later, at the same street corner, at a Cafe table, outside
ILANA has invited SAADI to lunch.
A WAITRESS approaches.
ILANA
What would you like. It’s on me.
SAADI
It’s very kind of you, Miss, to invite me.
ILANA
It’s nothing. I’m having culture shock. You’re the first person I’ve met who seems
normal to me. What would you like?
SAADI
Chai.
ILANA
Is that all?
SAADI
Is okay if I smoke?
ILANA
Go ahead. We’re outside.
To the WAITRESS
A Turkish coffee please. And a chai ... tea.
WAITRESS
Milk for the tea?
ILANA
No, thank you. He just takes sugar. And the menu.
WAITRESS
She knows what you take?
SAADI
She knows my habits. Somehow.
WAITRESS
I’ll be right back.
She goes.
SAADI
How you know I take sugar.
ILANA
What?
SAADI
That I take just sugar. No milk.
ILANA
Don’t be silly. Of course I know. Would you excuse me for a moment. Can you watch
my stuff?
She goes off. SAADI pulls out tobacco and rolls a
cigarette. He hums.
Then he gets up from the table. He stands, and gazes at
something in the sky.
He checks his sales stand, a few yards away. Returns to
the cafe table. Looks at the sky again.
The WAITRESS returns. She hands SAADI two leather
bound menus. She sees him looking up at the sky.
SAADI
A strange thing.
WAITRESS
What?
SAADI
That plane is doing what?
WAITRESS
It’s clearly sky writing.
SAADI
Is that what it is.
WAITRESS
Call me when you’re ready to order.
Pause.
She’s not your type you know.
SAADI
She knows I don’t take milk in tea.
WAITRESS
The best thing for tea is honey and lemon. Listen to me. I know.
SAADI makes a sour face. She goes. ILANA returns.
ILANA
What is it?
SAADI
Sky writing.
ILANA
What’s it say.
SAADI
I don’t know yet. He’s not finished.
They sit.
ILANA
Where are you from actually?
SAADI
Pakistan, Afghanistan, and India.
ILANA
All three?
SAADI
That’s how my family is spread out. And one in China.
ILANA
Aren’t you a citizen of a specific country?
SAADI
The silk road.
Pause. He laughs. They both laugh.
ILANA
Where’s your wife.
SAADI
They are asleep in the van. Over there.
ILANA
They?
SAADI
And the kids.
ILANA
You brought your wife—wives—over?
SAADI
Oh no. All my family are Americans.
ILANA
Your children have citizenship.
SAADI
Of course. But their mothers are American.
ILANA
American to start with?
SAADI
From birth, Americans. One is Jewish. She’s good at sewing. The other is a good
Muslim. She’s Irish.
Pause.
ILANA
I’m sorry?
SAADI
The Muslim one is Irish. Her family that is. She was born here.
ILANA
Let me get this straight. One wife is Jewish, and she hasn’t converted?
SAADI
In some small towns in China, Islam and Jews—it’s considered the same religion.
ILANA
Really?
SAADI
Where my brother lives in China, the mosque is also a synagogue.
ILANA
Hold on. I am trying to make sense of this.
SAADI
My American wife is Jewish.
ILANA
And she sews.
SAADI
That’s right. And the Irish one’s American. Naturalized. She converted before I met
her. Rebellion against her parents.
ILANA
And you’re married to both of them?
SAADI (stands, shocked.)
What are you saying! (Whispers.) Of course not. That’s illegal. This is America. The
first one I have divorced.
ILANA
Right. So which one are you currently married to?
SAADI
I have confused you. Sorry. One wife was before. The other is now. You know, Irish
woman is impossible to live with.
ILANA
Where are they now?
SAADI
Usually they are at the stall. One is with the kids in the van. Making some shirts. The
other one is at convention. “One Ireland” convention. At the Hilton.
ILANA
Wow. There are two conventions at that Hilton.
Gazing upward.
That’s it. That’s what it says.
SAADI (gazing up.)
Ah yes. Okay. That’s it.
ILANA
“One Ireland.”
SAADI
Are you married?
ILANA
No.
SAADI
Do you want to get married?
ILANA
Not this minute.
SAADI
You should consider it.
Pause.
What do you do?
ILANA
I am a journalist.
SAADI
What do you write about?
ILANA
I’ve been in Israel for two years, writing about children and war.
SAADI
Both?
ILANA
It’s all one subject. About the way the children are affected by war. Trauma. It affects
their ability to have hope. And recently, it has gotten ...
SAADI
It’s those Muslims and those Jews again.
ILANA
What do you mean? I am a Jew, and you’re a Muslim.
SAADI
What’s that got to do with price of tea in China?
ILANA
Okay, okay. Say—how much is the tea in China these days.
SAADI
Per gram, four yuan.
____________________________________________________________
SCENE 3
JOHN B and CHRISTIANE return to the cafe.
ILANA and SAADI are still sitting at their table. SAADI
is reading a newspaper in Persian and ILANA is reading
one in Hebrew.
CHRISTIANE and ILANA nod to each other in greeting.
She and JOHN B sit at another table.
JOHN B
Well, it’s nice to get out of that hotel.
CHRISTIANE
Yes, isn’t it.
JOHN B
We’re going to be living and breathing the air in there for the next three days. You look
upset, sister.
CHRISTIANE
Me upset? What for? Why would I be upset. Are you implying I might have any
reason to be disturbed in any way?
JOHN B
I hope it wasn’t the ...
CHRISTIANE
Wasn’t the ...
JOHN
You know. The seminar. I think you’re ticked off. I didn’t mean any offense. I am
always messing up, aren’t I.
CHRISTIANE
I don’t think an interfaith conference is a place to use “Catholic” as a pejorative word.
JOHN B
Did I do that?
CHRISTIANE
You said that thing, about Mexico.
JOHN B
About Cholula being the town of a thousand temples.
CHRISTIANE
And that the Catholics turned it into the town of the thousand Churches.
JOHN B
That’s history. Catholics built their Churches on the temples they destroyed. I mean, it
was the Inquisition in those days.
CHRISTIANE
And you use that to justify what your people are doing down there now?
JOHN B
We are giving all we have to turn to Christ. Without needing priests to intercede for
them.
CHRISTIANE
Those people, John, are Catholics. That means Christians, you understand.
JOHN B
I know. Okay. That’s good. Fine. It means they have the right foundation. But the
process isn’t complete. We have to build on it.
CHRISTIANE
So … they aren’t perfected?
JOHN B
That’s the idea. But they are people full of potential.
CHRISTIANE
Your missionary girls and boys outnumber Catholic priests six to one in Latin America
now.
JOHN B
It’s the momentum, Christiane. Look who has the momentum. And why is that?
CHRISTIANE
Your people have no sensitivity to local traditions.
JOHN B
They are ready to move away from all these earth mothers and incense ceremonies
and corn goddesses which so-called Christian opportunists have nurtured in order to
buy them off. They bought them off for the sake of adding souls to their membership
roles. You call that principled?
CHRISTIANE
Will you excuse me while I meander to the powder room. Order me tea and scones,
please. Darjeeling. I hope you can ignore the Hindu implications.
She goes out.
ILANA goes over to John’s table.
ILANA
Do you want to join us.
JOHN
Us?
ILANA
Me and the rug man. Mr Gulestan?
JOHN
No. Thank you very much. My friend and I are having a ... difficult discussion.
ILANA
Oh, I am sorry.
JOHN
We’re sorting some things out.
ILANA
Is it sort of an old history or something?
JOHN B
An ancient one.
ILANA
I see.
JOHN B
Listen, I am sorry about my comments early today. At events like this here, when I get
into public speaking and press conferences, I get up on my high horse. Things come
out of my mouth and ... I don’t know where they come from.
ILANA
It’s all right.
JOHN B
Would you like to meet for breakfast tomorrow. Perhaps we can have a more
meaningful talk. What would you think of that?
ILANA
I could do that. But I’m ... you know ... down and out.
JOHN B
That’s why I suggested it. It’s on me. (Pause.) I mean, don’t be afraid of me, I’m not
a Bedouin from Sinai ...
CHRISTIANE returns and takes her seat.
CHRISTIANE
Hello. Did you book in?
ILANA
Yes. I’m afraid I can’t afford more than one night.
CHRISTIANE
You don’t have to pay dear. We’ll cover you tonight. Tomorrow I’m sure we can find
you something more reasonable. But not that flea bag your friends were sending you
to. I know someone at the Irish Cultural Center, they have some rooms. Shared baths,
you know.
ILANA
That sounds great. I don’t even know if I can afford that. It’s not a religious place, is
it?
As the following conversation takes place, ILANA appears more and more transfixed,
as if put in a trance by a snake, until she begins trembling.
CHRISTIANE
My lord, no. It’s the kind of place that gathers up all the Irish folk singers for nightly
concerts. There’s a pub next door. I like it quite a bit.
JOHN B
It’s a politicized place.
CHRISTIANE
Politicized. What does that mean, politicized?
JOHN B
Fundraisers for the Catholics in Ulster.
CHRISTIANE
They raise funds for the peace initiative. And what’s wrong with Catholics in Ulster
anyway?
JOHN B
Well, the Catholics I understand, that is, in Ireland, in the north, are sort of, you know,
a a dubious bunch. I mean, thy;ve been engaged in dubious activis for decades.
(Pause.) Sorry. I can’t seem to stop myself.
CHRISTIANE
What makes you conclude that?
JOHN B
What?
CHRISTIANE
That the Irish are a dubious bunch?
JOHN B
Not the Irish. The Catholic Irish. That is, not in Ireland, in the North. Well, everybody
knows it. Dammit, how did I get myself into this. I mean, they are not as upwardly
mobile as the Protestants there. They have no work ethic. Most of them are on
welfare. They don’t have a life. The men drink. I mean, one can understand them.
They are stewing in their juices. Thay’re always in a state of unrest.
CHRISTIANE
You don’t suppose the unrest came from those ostentatious Orange Protestant
marches through their neighborhoods each year?
JOHN
You have to face reality, Christiane. The whole point is, that those people want simply
to assert their freedom to walk wherever they want to in their own country.
CHRISTIANE
As for the Catholics, it’s not their country then?
JOHN B
It’s not a Catholic country. But as individuals, of course it’s theirs.
CHRISTIANE
It was once a Catholic country. In fact, eighty percent of Ireland still is.
JOHN B
But they are two different countries. Two different cultures. One was built by the
British. One was dominated by rebels for the last three centuries. Damn it, I didn’t
mean it to come out like that.
Pause.
ILANA (trembling)
Uh, listen. I am going to get back to Mr Gulestan. Please come join us if you like.
Pause. CHRISTIANE and JOHN B are staring at the table,
smouldering.
ILANA
I will see you later, then.
She returns to the other table.
CHRISTIANE
Let’s change the subject.
Pause.
How is Elaine doing?
JOHN
She’s doing very well.
CHRISTIANE
Is she back to work yet? After that ... What was it. They extracted her duodenal—
JOHN
Intestine. Part of it. Ulcers are an occupational hazard with missionary work. The
doctors want her to rest up a bit longer.
CHRISTIANE
And the kids?
JOHN B
Into trouble quite a bit. That is, more so since their mother was laid up. How’s Tom?
CHRISTIANE
He works hard. I barely see him.
JOHN B
Well ... so. That’s how it is.
A silence.
CHRISTIANE
Have you ever met two people who have blown it like we two have blown it?
JOHN B
So what are you trying to say? That you miss me?
CHRISTIANE
I’m saying nothing. Nothing in particular. Just a free-floating perception. (Pause.) You
know, we were crazy. It was reckless.
JOHN B
Are you saying now that we did something wrong. That I did something wrong?
CHRISTIANE
Well, if you reflect, what do you think?
JOHN B
It came from a pure place. It was a normal relationship. I mean we’re not talking about
men of the cloth going after young boys here, are we. We’re talking about good old
fashioned love between a man and woman, moving in the direction of a contractual
foundation.
CHRISTIANE
In a manner contradicting the commandments, eh John?
JOHN B
One could hardly say you were really married then. I mean, you yourself said that you
were out of your marriage.
CHRISTIANE
Then you took off one day and poof—I’ve been thrown back into it ever since.
JOHN B
I didn’t just take off, Chrissy girl. I didn’t just take off.
CHRISTIANE
No?
JOHN B
I can’t talk about this. You know I can’t talk about it with you Chrissy. You know
how we get.
CHRISTIANE
How do we get?
JOHN B
We lose perspective. We need an ... arbitrator.
CHRISTIANE
One day I’d like to—to really talk. Time has elapsed. Why don’t we really, you and
me, set about to sorting things out between us. Why don’t we do that, John B. Why
don’t we finally talk it out.
Pause.
JOHN B
It’s not safe. It’s explosive. Maybe. If we had an outside ear. Someone to help us
navigate the rocks and shoals, so we don’t end up in a wreck all over again. Someone
who knows about conflict.
CHRISTIANE
You want an arbitrator? Okay then. Talk is cheap. Let’s do it.
______________________________________
SCENE 4
ILANA and JOHN B and CHRISTIANE together at a table
in the street cafe.. ILANA is focusing with increasing
concern on the other two.
SAADI is sitting in his booth. The WAITRESS is looking
at his scarf collection.
CHRISTIANE
Ilana. It is really so good of you to sit down with us. The two of us need a neutral ...
An outside ear. A sounding board.
ILANA
How did you two meet?
CHRISTIANE
We were both Christian aid workers in Sudan.
JOHN B
It was a good time in our lives. We were all united in one good cause.
ILANA
Was it missionary work?
JOHN B
Well, it was the work of service.
CHRISTIANE
Not all Christian activities spring from the impulse to convert people.
JOHN B
We were kind of like two people serving in the same army, same platoon. That kind of
bond.
CHRISTIANE
It all seemed completely natural. Nothing to think about really.
JOHN B
Well, except that one of us was married.
ILANA
Okay, so what is it. What is this thing you want me to hear?
JOHN B
It’s all so hard. It’s hard to explain, or even understand, how it went.
CHRISTIANE
You know very well how it went.
JOHN B
What I believe and what you believe. The twain shall never meet.
CHRISTIANE
You gave away my daughter.
Pause.
JOHN B
YOU gave away your daughter.
ILANA
Wait a minute—
CHRISTIANE
—And she is out there somewhere—
JOHN B
She is gone. She is just gone. She’s becoming another—
CHRISTIANE
She is mine, John B. Always she’ll be mine!
JOHN B
—person. We would never recognize her.
CHRISTIANE
I would recognize her! I would.
JOHN B
We decided to split. You could never have—
CHRISTIANE
How do you know I couldn’t have—
JOHN B
Outside of a family setting?
CHRISTIANE
Yes.
JOHN B
You had some principles once upon—
CHRISTIANE
I have them now! What do you think this is—
JOHN B
Growing up with you she would have looked like our mistake!
CHRISTIANE
Mistake! You call it OUR—
JOHN B
Exactly, if we couldn’t keep our commitment to each other.
CHRISTIANE
mistake? You admit your mistakes and go on.
JOHN B
You mean “confess” don’t you? You confess your mistakes and—
CHRISTIANE
Yeah! Confess them. And then live as best you can. And to hell with what others think.
It was after all MY MISTAKE.
JOHN B
And the man who robs the store. And the gangs that kill school children in their
crossfire? Oh yes, I almost forgot, the priest who takes his comfort in young boys?
And Mussolini could have confessed his mistakes, and gone on? Why not? And the
mother who drowns her children in the bathtub? All is forgivable. Oh yes. Confess—
forgiven. Terrorists and bombers in Belfast and Karachi. Confess— forgiven. In the
end you would forgive every whore and pimp, and killer, and bomber and extortionist
and pederast and torturer. Confess—forgiven. You are their friend in their hour of
need. So what does that make you? Sone would say, complicit with criminals! You
don’t recognize evil for what is is. Poor little lamb, just confess and everything’s just
dandy!
During his tirade the WAITRESS has turned her attention
to their table. SAADI as well. JOHN B looks up and sees
her. The WAITRESS goes back in the restaurant. ILANA
has been straining to take it all in.
CHRISTIANE
You have the nerve—
JOHN B
You rigged the whole thing and that’s the problem.
CHRISTIANE
Rigged?
JOHN B
You know – that surprise pregnancy? I’ve never felt it was a complete surprise—for
you.
CHRISTIANE
I did not rig it. I just got pregnant. If it was rigged it was the good Lord’s rigging.
ILANA
Hey, you two—
JOHN B
People need to take responsibility—
CHRISTIANE
Responsibility?—
JOHN
— for their actions—
CHRISTIANE
—Is that what happened here? Taking responsibility?
ILANA
People ...
JOHN
Darn right it—
CHRISTIANE
Responsibility is raising your own—
JOHN
—is! Responsibility is putting a child in a morally uncompromised situation. Morally
uncompromised. Your sense of morals is from the church of the old days, the church
of penitents and individual seekers. The church of our time is the church of the family.
CHRISTIANE (softly, intimately)
John , you are trying to build your church on top of mine.
ILANA (to John B)
I can’t believe that you would force such a thing on someone.
JOHN B
If you’re referring to me, I am not the one that forced the crisis into our lives.
ILANA
But she didn’t—
JOHN B
Whoa, just a minute, you listened to us for all of five minutes, and you are saying you
disapprove —
ILANA
You didn’t let her decide for herself —
JOHN B
I have to say, you know nothing about this—
ILANA
I do know something about this—
JOHN B
—you’re still just a girl really, and —
ILANA
As long as you make each other out as criminals, how do you expect to talk—
JOHN B
—and you’re also not a Christian!
Pause.
ILANA
Ah.
JOHN B
Damn. I mean, you have a somewhat different code to live by.
ILANA
Wait a minute. Does anybody know where this child is?
Pause
.
So there is an adoptive parent with a confidentiality pledge? That is, no one knows
where the child is. Is that it? That’s a disappearance. That’s a disappeared child.
JOHN B
You can’t possibly understand this. You are an outsider. These problems go way
back. Years back.
ILANA
Look, it’s common sense. You asked for my opinion. You two have a disappeared
child. No wonder there can’t be any peace between you. (To CHRISTIANE) And
you. That’s great isn’t it. You were pretty damn willing to give in to the pressure. You
gave in.
CHRISTIANE
Wait a minute. Aren’t you being just a bit presumptuous? You weren’t there, were
you. You can’t understand how difficult it was ...
ILANA
That’s great. You sat me down here. You asked me to listen. As an outside eye or
ear. To be impartial. Wasn’t that the idea?
CHRISTIANE
This is way too complex, Ilana. You can’t possibly know.
JOHN B
It’s a long history. There are so many twists and turns.
CHRISTIANE
Because this man is so full of twists and turns and false promises and deviance—
JOHN B
Deviance! You sit here before a pure outsider, a stranger, and make innuendo about
my—
CHRISTIANE
It’s not innuendo. Have a child by one woman, move onto the next—
JOHN B
—morality when you try to trap a man by having a child. Yat trap.
CHRISTIANE
I never thought of such a thing and you—
JOHN B
If you look deep into your soul, I mean I don’t care if it was calculated or semi-
unconscious, or calculatedly unconscious, but you—
ILANA
How can you possibly make claims about somebody’s unconscious?
JOHN B (to ILANA)
Shut up, will you!
CHRISTIANE
Yes. Be quiet. You understand nothing!
JOHN B
Go fuck off.
CHRISTIANE
You better leave. It’s too complicated for an outsider.
JOHN B
Naive do-gooders.
____________________________________________
SCENE 5
ILANA is in SAADI’s booth, preparing to help him sell
items. He is seated in a chair next to the booth, which
gives him perspective on his whole business operation, so
that potential thieves will not be able to get their hands on
merchandise.
SAADI
It’s been an hour. You haven’t sold anything.
ILANA
You picked a bad intersection. But we’ll sell something. I need to be able to pay for a
room.
SAADI
You have bad luck.
ILANA
I once thought I was blessed. What’s happened to me?
SAADI
Two questions: Your closest family member is who? And your closest friend is who?
ILANA
My uncle is my family. He’s my teacher, in a way. He lives out on the New Mexico
desert in an adobe house. His house is in the middle of his land. It stands in the
middle of a spiraling road that goes round and round and closer and closer to his
house, until you get there, at the center. I go there, and he teaches me Kabbalah. We
do headstands in the morning, and then we do Kabbalah, and then I walk in the
countryside.
The temple mount is the same in Jerusalem. In terms of energy. It starts far distant from
the place of the temple and the wall. But if you walk around it, it pulls you into the
middle so that you are drawn into a tighter and tighter circle. Of course walking such a
circle in time of strife is very hard, passing through Arab and Jewish quarters over and
over again. The spiral has been broken by all the ... events. But the vortex of energy is
there. You can feel it. These delicate currents created by the human mind—many
human minds—over millennia still hold. But every time it heals, people wound it again.
SAADI
And my second question?
ILANA (pulling some rugs off of something.)
What’s this for?
SAADI
What?
She holds up a long knife with a bend in the middle, pulling
it from its case.
ILANA
What’s it for?
SAADI
What do you think? That’s not for sale. Sometimes in the city – those kids. They
attack you.
ILANA
You planning on fighting off kids with guns—with this?
SAADI
It’s very effective. Ghurkan knife. Given to my grandfather during time of the British
Raj.
ILANA
The blade is still shiny.
SAADI
Which means the police can see it. Please wrap my baby in its blanket again.
ILANA
Okay. Sure. Bye bye baby.
SAADI
My second question. You have not answered my second question.
Pause.
Your closest friend.
ILANA
After my first six months in Jerusalem, I found my closest friend. She was an Arab day-
care worker. She was great with children. With a big heart. Then a new uprising
started. And so she crossed the checkpoints and volunteered to treat the wounded
during fights with the army. But she had to keep doing it and doing it. She bound
wounds, and more wounds would bleed. She bound those wounds, and more wounds
would open. She found that boys she was treating on the ground were no longer living
boys but dead men. Day after day after day. People could see what was happening to
her mind. And then some people saw she was ripe for their plans.
And so one bright shiny spring day, she tied a bundle of wires around her waist and
over her shoulders, put a pack on her back, and walked into a crowded street in the
midst of the spiral of force I told you about. She looked at the people, made sure she
was among them. She knew what she was doing. She pushed a small button. She tore
herself to many small shreds, and everything and everyone fell down around the place
where she had been standing. She came down as a kind of rain.
They told me, the witnesses I spoke to, that you could breathe the fear in the air. You
could smell it. But her pain was completely gone. Now it was transferred from her
nerves to the nerves of other people.
Later I walked through that square. I looked at the blood on the stones. Some was
that of her victims, mixed in with her own. And at that instant, I wanted desperately to
find the spiral trail to the center. I could not find my way to the wall or the mount of the
temple. No map would have helped me. The tissue of the spiral had been torn. There
was no path to the center.
All cities should have a center. Or everyone is lost.
SAADI
And your friend?
ILANA
What about her?
SAADI
I mean, what did you do?
ILANA
Do what? I HATE HER.
Pulls out the Ghurkan saber and begins hitting
the posts of the booth with it.
I HATE HER. YOU CAN’T TRUST AN ARAB!
_________________________________________________
SCENE 6
Hours later.
SAADI is in his stall this time. ILANA standing in the
middle of the donut-shaped table, coming through the
large parasol hole. (There is no parasol in it.) She reads a
newspaper Alternately, she looks at it to read, then puts
it back over her head. Her hair hangs loose, she has scarf
wrapped around her head and a shawl around her
shoulders.
The WAITRESS enters with a coffee. Sees ILANA in
the middle of the table. Stops.
ILANA
It’s okay. Just put it right there.
WAITRESS
You all right?
ILANA
And the sugar, thanks.
The WAITRESS puts them down in front of her. Looking
at ILANA, wipes down the other tables.
ILANA reads the paper. To SAADI
ILANA
Do you see this? I think the Kashmir conflict is actually bigger than ours.
SAADI
The countries involved are bigger.
ILANA
They beat us. They beat us. They are worse than us. Bigger countries ...
SAADI
It’s not just countries. Communal riots in India. All the time. From what?
ILANA
The same old same old.
SAADI
If I build my temple on yours, I win.
ILANA
No one builds on my temple, Buster
SAADI
Ha ha ha ha. Everybody has built on top of your temple. Ha ha ha!
Pause.
Do you know what. You were out here half a day. You didn’t sell anything.
ILANA
No one is coming by. It’s not a good intersection.
Yells to WAITRESS
Hey. This is not a very good intersection for business, is it?
THE WAITRESS looks at her with alarm. Then chooses
to ignore the comment, and goes back to her work.
WAITRESS
You know, I think you’re losing your head.
SAADI
It’s because of the look on your face. That’s why no one buys.
ILANA
I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve been wasting your time by trying this street vendor thing.
Something’s wrong with me. Not just me. Look at this paper! Look at this. It’s
covered with disease.
SAADI
I tell you to take a break. So what do you do? Read the news. That’s no break.
The WAITRESS goes back inside.
ILANA
You’re right ... Everyone has built on my temple. Or torn it down. And built again.
SAADI
Where I was born mosques were had been built on top of Mazdean temples.The
Zoroaster fires still burn in a few desert towns. They stuffed down the fire. So then
people were sitting in the mosques built on the fire temples stones. No fires allowed.
So they would recite poetry about fire.And they would sit at the tombs of saints and
sing songs of fire until they danced. Danced on fire.
ILANA
Danced no matter what.
SAADI
In Sind and the Indus and the Ganges the great men built mosques on the temples of
the river gods and woman gods and moon god and so forth. The great conquerors had
taken the land, but they wanted the souls. Big kings built on the ruins. Temple ruins.
Not long ago, in Gujurat, people are burning each other up in train cars. Mobs on the
streets are burning up whole families because somebody threatened to build a temple
on top of a mosque which was built on a temple. This all because four hundred years
ago a man, Aurangzeb, almost the last big king of Mughals tore down a temple on the
spot where, some India people say, God was born on this earth. This great man buried
the god birth place, and and built a new temple to his religion. He did this everywhere
he went.
Those places, with the temple on the mosque on the temple or the mosque on the
church on the temple, or the church on the temple on the mosque — they bring storms
of darkness.
ILANA
“Mathalu nūrihi kamishkātin fihā misbāhun, almisbāhu
fi zujāhjatin, ͗azzujājatu kaʾannahā
kawkabun durriyyun yūqadu min shajaratim mubūrakatin
zaytūnatil lā sharqiyyatin wa lā gharbiyyatin
yakādu zaytuhā yudzeeʾu
wa law lam tamsas-hu naar.
Nūrun ͗alā nuur.”
SAADI
How do you know that?
Pause.
How do you know that!
ILANA
I had to memorize it.
SAADI
I can translate that.
“His light appears like a niche
in which there is a lamp, the flame within a glass ...
ILANA
“the glass as if it were a glittering star, lit with the oil
of a blessed tree ...”
SAADI
“whose oil appears to light up
though the fire doesn’t touch it—light upon light”
That’s scripture. But not yours.
ILANA
My uncle taught me to use it for Kabbalah.
SAADI
You understand it?
ILANA
I am supposed to contemplate it for seven years. And then I will see. That’s what he
said.
SAADI
Okay. Seven years. You wait and see.
___________________________________________
SCENE 7
JOHN B, CHRISTIANE & ILANA. CHRISTIANE is now
minding SAADI’s booth. JOHN B is examining rugs.
ILANA is sitting on top of one of the cafe tables wrapped
in a rug. SAADI is away.
CHRISTIANE
I am sorry about my outburst. It was out of place. I’m sure the news from over there
must be very hard on you right now.
ILANA
Don’t worry about it. You know about those rugs. You know how to talk about
them. Sell one. I want to see you. I want to see you do it.
CHRISTIANE
I appreciate the introduction to Mr Gulshan. He has interesting stories to tell.
ILANA
You can sell his stuff. I really need to lie down.
She lies on her side in the rug.
JOHN B
We understand Ilana. The news was upsetting this morning.
Pause.
I support your country, which represents an outpost of our civilization. One simply has
to support them. Remarkable the colors in these rugs.
CHRISTIANE
It’s only in the Mideast and central Asia that one finds such symbolism in rugs.
ILANA (distant and weakly, to John B)
Thank you for supporting us.
JOHN B
These natural dyes are so brilliant.
To Ilana
But you know, here some people think your people have gone a bit overboard with
surrounding cities, invading refugee camps, bombarding targets in populated areas—
taking out leaders and assassinating them? Then again, the Pastor of our church—and
it’s a mega church, did I tell you?—says we must all be Zionists now. Any action by
your country is righteous, of course. Even though it doesn’t get you much sympathy.
ILANA (eyes closed.)
You always talk out of both sides of your mouth …
CHRISTIANE (to JOHN.)
I think you have to differentiate between what her people want, and what their leaders
want. Both you and your Grand Pastor.
ILANA
I ... I don’t know. I mean, this goes so many decades back ... The things that have
been done . . . have been done.
JOHN B
It’s just hard to see why the people on both sides—and the leaders—don’t see that
this sort of ... revenge cycle has to stop somewhere. (Pause. Perplexed again.)
Unless ... this is supposed to take us to the final days, as the Pastor says.
CHRISTIANE
She thinks outsiders can’t understand. And she might be right.
JOHN B
Most people would say its precisely the insiders who have lost all common sense.
ILANA (sits up as she speaks, till she is erect)
I think I understand him. I understand this talking out of both sides of your mouth. I
feel I am doing that almost all the time. But common sense … Common sense is not
common in some places. One day I was came from a meeting with our settlers in the
territories. They wanted us to understand their position. They wanted our support.
But down in the town the army was on the move.
I saw a man trapped against a vast stone wall. An ancient stone wall. He was holding
his boy. Not more than six or seven. He was taking shelter from the soldiers firing on
the kids with the rocks and slingshots. They were in a corner but not out of view. And
so the father grabs his boy, and puts him between himself and the wall. But the boy has
been shot by the first rake of machine gun fire. He is dying. There the father sits
crouched, with nothing but his own body to protect his boy. And then the father’s
body starts to slide down. It’s the blasts of fire pushing him down. And the boy’s
position has not changed for a couple of minutes. I doubt very much he survived … in
any way or condition. But the raking bullets go on and on and on.
What is common sense. These are our enemies, right?
CHRISTIANE
When you talk, you sound like you are inside your enemy.
ILANA
My “enemy” is living in me. Like a dybbuk.
She rips open her jacket. Her white blouse underneath has
developed a red blotch under her left breast. As she speaks
the following as if in delirium.
I studied Arabic. I learned about that culture. With my knowledge I could have chosen
the secret services, or I could have chosen to live among them. I had an Arab
boyfriend for almost a year.
None of that matters, because a deep logic tells you “Our enemies must pay a price.”
There is no other way.
No other way out. I must stay with my people. It’s what I was taught. One has to
attend to the survival of one’s people.
I am in the street watching the men and boys falling like wheat in the harvest.
I am hiding behind the walls with the soldiers fearing every moment for my life, and
believing each blow they strike is for my family.
The red has spread through the front of her her white
shirt, and slowly saturates the front of it.
On the streets two traitors are hung by their feet on a lamppost.
Next the soldiers have located the house of the killers of the traitor and enter.
The killers of the traitors are later found dead with shots to the back of the head.
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers wail incessantly on our side of the border.
Their side of the border.
I seek to destroy those who refuse to stop this pain.
No. It’s my people who people bulldoze their houses, where some with families
huddle in false safety.
Their headquarters are bombed with suspects inside.
No. My people crawl over the borders and make their way to the enemy’s hotels with
their body straps and seek to balance the agony in their own annihilation.
I have to take sides or I’d be strung up I have to take sides or I’ll be jailed I’d be
vilified by my people the moment I cry out loud at the tortures inflicted on the other
side.
I have lost pity for the others.
No room for pity mercy compassion.
The sentiments of treason.
I destroy for my people and I suffer.
If cry out in pity I am stifled suppressed smothered.
I am living with my heart in a flak jacket.
I need to kill my killer. My wanting to kill takes me over.
Killing my killer is my suicide.
CHISTIANE opens the rug and ILANA’s shirt and is
looking carefully. The Ghurkhan knife clatters to the
floor.
CHRISTIANE
John, call Emergency.
She holds ILANA.
JOHN takes out his cell phone and walks upstage.
SAADI sits cross legged next tothem.
SAADI (recites close to ILANA.)
Listen:
“If any man thinks he slays
and if another thinks he is slain
neither knows the ways of truth
The Eternal in man cannot kill
The Eternal in man cannot die
He is never born, and he never dies ...”
Is from a Persian classic.
ILANA
Upanishads ... It’s the fucking Upanishads ...
SAADI
I was sure it was—.
CHRISTIANE
The ambulance is coming.
ILANA
I need to stay here. Please.
CHRISTIANE
We need to take care of this first.
ILANA
When we come back. (To SAADI) I need to stay here.
SAADI
My van is full.
ILANA
It’s a caravan. It’s a CARA-VAN.
__________________________________________
SCENE 8
JOHN B and CHRISTIANE with suitcases, waiting for
cabs.
ILANA is sleeping, sitting upright propped against the rug
backing of SAADI’s stand. We see bandages around her
chest. She is wrapped in shawls and a rug, with the silk
tied around her head.
JOHN B
You know, I don’t think anyone, really, would understand.
CHRISTIANE
It makes you feel kind of raw, doesn’t it.
JOHN B
It was rash, opening everything up again.
CHRISTIANE
We made a mistake opening up to a stranger that way. We confused ourselves.
JOHN B
I am always confused. Christiane.
CHRISTIANE
Yes, you are.
JOHN B
So then ... I will be seeing you at the next conference.
CHRISTIANE
Yes. The next go-round.
JOHN B (referring to ILANA)
What’s she doing over there? She’s sleeping in his booth.
CHRISTIANE
She’s got free lodgings, in the van with the others.
JOHN B
She’s staying?
CHRISTIANE
For now, it seems. Hold on a minute.
CHRISTIANE goes up to ILANA and quietly leaves a
letter on her lap.
JOHN B
What’s that?
CHRISTIANE
A letter to her from my roommate from Palestine. They hit it off the first night. Like
they knew each other all their lives. I felt like I was interrupting some secret conference
each time I entered the room. I felt quite left out. Like seemed to be conferring in
codes that I wouldn’t understand. Once I came in, and they were sitting on the floor
together. In silence.
Pause.
In any case, she seemed quite anxious to talk with Ilana again. She made me promise
to deliver her letter.
Pause.
Should we say goodbye?
JOHN B
Let her sleep. That girl is troubled right now.
They begin to walk away. CHRISTIANE stops, goes back
to ILANA. She picks up the letter. She gently wakes her
CHRISTIANE
Ilana. This is from Fatima. I want to make sure you read it. Can you understand me?
Do you want me to read it to you?
ILANA nods.
“My beautiful friend. I will be staying here a while. Will you be traveling back? I
would like to travel back with you. Of course, it will be a help to me at the security in
the airport. But in exchange, I would like you to visit my village in the north. There is
an ancient church and a beautiful mosque, and roman ruins. Please come to see me. I
wait for you ...”
CHRISTIANE hands it back to her, fixes ILANA’s hair.
She walks back to JOHN B.
JOHN B
Christiane. You have a good heart. And that just makes me wonder. Why can’t you
and I talk? What is wrong that nobody can talk.
CHRISTIANE
I’ll see you at the June conference, John B.
JOHN B
Doesn’t this thing ever end.
CHRISTIANE
We keep going round and round. What can you do.
They turn to look at ILANA, wrapped in her rug in the
booth.
JOHN B and CHRISTIANE walk off.
As the lights dim around her, a brighter shaft of light
comes up on booth, and ILANA begins to look eerily regal,
echoing Dara Shikooh in Part One, wrapped in her rug,
bandages round her chest, with the silk head wrap coming
down from her hair. The booth now has taken the look of
the throne again.
ILANA
Caravan.
An Indian plum pipe wails. SAADI approaches, observes
her.
ILANA’s eyes open. She unfolds the letter, and reads.
“I wait for you.”
Then lifts it, with both hands, higher, higher – she begins
to tremble, her eyes are wide open.
Caravan.
END
Recent plays -- Joe Martin