My Name Is Radha

In this Maelstrom (A Melodrama)

Characters:

BEGUM, the mother

AMJAD (a crippled young man) and

MAJEED (a stout, healthy young man), the Begum’s sons

SAEEDA, Amjad’s beautiful new wife

ASGHARI, a maid

KARIM and

GHULAM MUHAMMAD, servants

KAMAL, a chauffeur^* ACT I

A room in Nigar Villa. Its beautifully paned windows open on to hilly slopes that extend as far as the eye can see until they blend into the greyish-blue sky. The silk curtains on the windows are rustling in the gentle morning breeze. The room’s furnishings give the impression that it is being converted into a bridal suite. A canopied teakwood bed is on the right near the windows. In a corner near the bed is a small glass-topped side table with a crystal decanter, a goblet and an alarm clock on it. At the back, two servants are arranging cushions on a sofa with beige-coloured taffeta covers. A short distance away, a young, plain-looking maid is trying to rearrange some items on the mantel above the fireplace. A virginal silence, so delicate that it would lose its innocence at the slightest touch, pervades the room. The sound of wood slowly tapping on the tiles outside is heard. The three domestics react slightly and then resume their respective duties. A dignified middle-aged woman enters through the door, propelling herself on crutches. She scrutinizes the room and evinces a feeling of satisfaction.

BEGUM SAHIB (hobbles about the room, making sure that everything is in its proper place): Looks fine! (She removes one crutch from under her arm, leans over to set it against the arm of the sofa in order to sit down, but then changes her mind. In doing so, her hand leaves a smudge on the shiny surface of the armrest. She uses one corner of her dupatta to wipe it, then puts her crutch back under her arm and addresses the maid) Asghari!

ASGHARI (facing her): Yes?

BEGUM SAHIB (suddenly realizing she has forgotten why she called asghari): What was I going to say?

ASGHARI (smiling): That you aren’t satisfied. I feel the same way, Begum Sahib. Really. The bride is very beautiful. All of the room’s decorations will pale before her. (She looks at the bride’s portrait hanging from silk cords in the centre of the wall above the fireplace.)

BEGUM SAHIB (smiling, slowly moves towards the fireplace and looks closely at her daughter-in-law’s portrait, beams but then suddenly feels anxious): Asghari!

ASGHARI: Yes?

BEGUM SAHIB: I’ve been feeling sort of uneasy since this morning.

ASGHARI: But of course. Amjad Mian is coming with his bride.

BEGUM SAHIB (lost in thought): Yes. He should be along soon. Kamal has taken the car to the station.

ASGHARI: Next year get Majeed Mian married, too. The house will really brighten up.

BEGUM SAHIB: God willing! God willing that will come off too, nicely. (Under her breath) God willing!

ASGHARI (looking at the bride’s portrait, obviously impressed by her beauty): May God protect her from the evil eye.

BEGUM SAHIB (almost screaming, without meaning to): Asghari!

ASGHARI (startled): Yes!

BEGUM SAHIB: Oh. . oh nothing. When does the train arrive from Karachi?

ASGHARI: I don’t know, Begum Sahib.

BEGUM SAHIB (to a servant): Karim, call the station and find out. . but the train reached Rawalpindi yesterday. . Majeed’s telegram said so.

KARIM: Yes, it did.

BEGUM SAHIB: Oh, and I’ve sent Kamal to the station. . (confused) God knows what’s wrong with my head. Amjad was going to stay overnight in Rawalpindi with his friend Saeed. . They must have left Rawalpindi by now. (To another servant) Ghulam Muhammad!

GHULAM MUHAMMAD: Yes?

BEGUM SAHIB: Go look for Kamal. Find out where he’s taken the car.

GHULAM MUHAMMAD: Right away. (Exits.)

BEGUM SAHIB (leaning over ASGHARI’s shoulder for support): I haven’t been feeling well since morning. If I weren’t an invalid. . if that damn Dr Hidayatullah hadn’t stopped me, I would have gone myself to bring the bride home. (The faint ringing of a telephone is heard in the distance.) Perhaps that’s Amjad’s friend calling to say that they’ve left. Run, Asghari, run! (ASGHARI exits, running.) (To KARIM, to lessen her worry) Well, Amjad Mian must be here soon.

KARIM: May God bring him back safely.

BEGUM SAHIB (almost screaming): What do you mean by that?

KARIM (scared): Just that, just that. .

(ASGHARI is heard screaming offstage, “BEGUM SAHIB! BEGUM SAHIB!”)

BEGUM SAHIB (apprehensively): What’s happened?

(ASGHARI enters, shaken.)

ASGHARI: Begum Sahib! Begum Sahib!

BEGUM SAHIB (tightly clutching her crutches): What?

ASGHARI: Majeed Mian has called. . to say that the train. . the train was in an accident!

BEGUM SAHIB (grasping the crutches even tighter): And. .

ASGHARI: Amjad Mian and his bride were injured. They’re in the hospital!

BEGUM SAHIB (Her grip loosens and the crutches fall from under her arms. For a moment she stands there frozen, then a small tremor runs through her and she moves towards the door.): Tell Kamal to get the car out. We’re driving to Rawalpindi.

(THE BEGUM is walking towards the door while GHULAM MUHAMMAD and ASGHARI watch her, stunned. ASGHARI screams and THE BEGUM whirls around to look at her.)

BEGUM SAHIB: What is it?

ASGHARI: You’re. . you’re walking! You can walk!

BEGUM SAHIB: Me. . (Noticing she is no longer on her crutches) How? How can I be walking? (All at once she collapses on the floor, unconscious.)

ASGHARI (to GHULAM MUHAMMAD as she walks over to THE BEGUM): Go telephone the doctor.

(GHULAM MUHAMMAD exits. ASGHARI tries to revive THE BEGUM.) ACT II

The same room as in Act I. The furniture appears dull and devoid of its earlier sheen. Now everything looks well used. It is morning. The silk curtains on the windows are fluttering gently in the light morning breeze. SAEEDA, the bride, lies covered with a blanket on the teakwood bed to the right. On the side table the alarm clock showing nine o’clock begins to ring. There is some movement under the blanket. SAEEDA rolls over and opens her eyes. She looks over at the clock and smiles. In doing so, her thick lashes flutter on her beautiful face. She flips back over, props herself up on the pillows and looks out with childlike glee at the alluring view of the hills spreading out endlessly before her. Then, suddenly, she kicks off the blanket, jumps out of bed, draws the curtains and looks outside. She hears a bird’s musical trilling and becomes lost in her thoughts. She is young. Although the silk nightgown hanging loosely on her body is attractive in itself, it nonetheless shows to good effect the curves beneath it. She is ravishing, and aware of it. Suddenly ASGHARI’s raucous voice rises in the background, contrasting sharply with the sweet sound of the singing bird. SAEEDA starts. When ASGHARI is visible she gives her a look as though asking, ‘What was that?’

ASGHARI (entering): Majeed Mian has just returned from the hospital. He said to see if you were up yet.

SAEEDA: What news does he bring?

ASGHARI: I’ll send him in.

(ASGHARI exits. SAEEDA withdraws from the window, goes over to the dressing table and looks at herself for a moment, then casually smoothing her mussed hair with her hands, she slowly moves towards the canopied bed, removes her white georgette dupatta hanging from it and very inattentively throws it around her shoulders. The creaking sound of heavy leather boots is heard coming from outside. With slight hesitation she looks over towards the door through which enters MAJEED, a robust young man of medium height with a light almond complexion, his features showing a maturity far beyond his years.)

MAJEED: Salaam, Bhabhijan.

SAEEDA: Salaam.

MAJEED (going over to the sofa): How are you feeling?

SAEEDA (listlessly): All right, I guess. (Sits down on the sofa.) Tell me, what’s the news from Rawalpindi?

MAJEED (coming up close in front of SAEEDA): Nothing much. (Lets out a half-sigh.) Well, they’re bringing him home.

SAEEDA: Why?

MAJEED: He’s tired of languishing in the hospital. (Pulls over a wicker chair and sits down.) Had I been in his place. . I would have probably killed myself.

SAEEDA (getting up and walking to the window): Who would have imagined this would be my fate. . So many people died. . Why didn’t I die with them?

MAJEED: That was not God’s will.

SAEEDA (looking at the hilly scene outside): Yes, it wasn’t God’s will. Rather, God’s will was that I escape with just a minor scratch on my leg but my whole life be crippled. (Tears well up in her eyes which she delicately dries with her white dupatta.) God’s will was to cut short my days of bridal happiness and let me float in the wind for the rest of my life like a kite severed from its string. (Sobs.)

MAJEED (rising): Have some courage, Bhabhijan. Who knows, he might still get well.

SAEEDA (reproachfully): Majeed, you of all people trying to deceive me! He’s been lying glued to a hospital bed for six months. I know very well what the doctors say his prognosis is. He’ll never get well. . both of his legs are utterly useless now. . but. . but I’ll grant you that he’s a very courageous man. Whenever I go to see him, he makes me sit close to him and tells me, ‘Saeeda, don’t you worry. I’m going to get well soon — very soon. Then I’ll take you out for a walk in those hills I’ve told you about so often in Karachi. I love those hills so much that if I talk about them any more you might get jealous.’ And then he attempts to boost my sagging spirits by saying, ‘Saeeda, what is life but a series of accidents? I thank God that I didn’t die or else. . or else. .’ But what he says next gives me the creeps.

MAJEED: Like what?

SAEEDA (staring off into space with moist eyes): Like ‘You will come to love someone else and marry him.’ (Suddenly trembles.) Why does he think of such things, why, Majeed?

MAJEED: I don’t know.

SAEEDA: You should know. (Walks slowly over to the sofa and sits down. Her dupatta slides down; her heaving bosom presses against her silk nightgown, transferring to it all its velvety rise and fall.) You’re a man. . you’re his brother. . What if you had such an accident?

MAJEED: I would never have thought of the things that cross Amjad Bhai’s mind.

SAEEDA: Why?

MAJEED: We’re both men, we’re even brothers — but we feel and think differently.

SAEEDA (mumbling): Feel and think. .

ASGHARI (entering): Majeed Mian, Begum Sahib wishes to see you.

MAJEED: Go on, I’ll be there.

ASGHARI: She said to come right away.

MAJEED: All right. (Looking at SAEEDA) I’ll be right back. (Exits.)

(ASGHARI sits down on the rug at SAEEDA’s feet; she’s about to massage them.)

SAEEDA (pulling her feet away): Don’t bother, Asghari.

ASGHARI (nearly wrapping herself around SAEEDA’s feet): It’s no bother, Dulhan Begum. (Begins to press her toes.) What news did Majeed Mian bring?

SAEEDA: He said Amjad wants to come back home.

ASGHARI: Good news.

SAEEDA (with a stab of pain): Yes.

ASGHARI: Begum Sahib was quite annoyed that Majeed Mian stayed so long.

SAEEDA: Where?

ASGHARI: Here. . with you.

SAEEDA: With me? What exactly did Begum Sahib say?

ASGHARI: Nothing much. She’s become very irritable these days. Nothing, absolutely nothing pleases her. . She feels a lot sorrier for you than she does for Amjad Mian. She’s always thinking about you. . So, has Amjad Mian gotten better?

SAEEDA (pulling her feet away in a huff and standing up): Yes, he’s gotten better. (THE BEGUM enters the room; ASGHARI springs up.) Salaam, Khalajan.

BEGUM SAHIB: Salaam, child. (Comes over and affectionately strokes SAEEDA’s head.) Majeed’s told you — hasn’t he?

SAEEDA: Yes.

BEGUM SAHIB: He really grew to hate it there in the hospital. (Looks over at ASGHARI) Asghari, you can go now. (ASGHARI exits.) He wants. . he wants to be with you. He told me, ‘If I must die, then let my Saeeda be before my eyes.’ (SAEEDA’s eyes brim over with tears and she throws herself in the begum’s arms.) He. . (tears trickling down her face) he loves you so very much, but. . he told me to make sure you wouldn’t mind his returning home.

SAEEDA: Mind. .

BEGUM SAHIB: Yes, child. It could make you feel even worse. You know. . it’s possible.

SAEEDA: Why must he think that way, Khalajan, why?

BEGUM SAHIB: Child, he’s just that sort of person. . always concerned about others.

SAEEDA: He should come, why shouldn’t he come? (Her voice sounding almost like a groan.) He mustn’t think like that!

BEGUM SAHIB: The doctors say that if he stays happy, then, God willing, he should be able to get around on crutches in a month or two. (Suddenly begins to cry inconsolably.) Crutches. . I got rid of them after I heard about the train wreck. Had I known they were about to enter his life, I’d have held on to them tightly. But, child, the strongest boat gets sucked down into the whirlpool we call life while a mere straw takes one safely to shore. (After a pause) Saeeda, child, Amjad wanted me to ask you one more thing.

SAEEDA: What is it, Khalajan?

BEGUM SAHIB: Will you still love him?

SAEEDA (stunned): Love him. .

BEGUM SAHIB (stroking SAEEDA’s head): I don’t want to trouble you any more. (Exits.)

SAEEDA (delicately wiping away her tears with her dupatta, mutters): Love. . Love his. . heart, his mind? (Walks slowly over to her portrait above the fireplace and addresses it.) Tell me, will you love him?

(The sound of teacups clattering on a tray is heard. ASGHARI enters with a teacart, wheels it over to the sofa and lays out the breakfast neatly on it.)

ASGHARI: If Dulhan Begum won’t love Amjad Mian, what other woman will?

SAEEDA (startled): What was that?

ASGHARI: Oh, nothing. . just talking to myself. Please have some breakfast.

SAEEDA: Please leave me.

ASGHARI: Yes, ma’am. (Glances at SAEEDA and then at her portrait as she exits.)

(saeeda, deep in thought, walks slowly towards the sofa, but then goes and lies down on the bed).

SAEEDA (staring at the ceiling and mumbling): If Dulhan Begum won’t love Amjad Mian, what other woman will? Dulhan Begum — if she won’t love Amjad Mian, then what other woman will? (In a louder voice) Who will? Who else can?

(Curtain) ACT III

The garden adjacent to Nigar Villa. In the centre of some neatly trimmed low shrubbery, a fountain spits out short spurts of water. The sun is bright, the sky without a wisp of cloud, the atmosphere is pristine, uninhibited in its glorious prime. Every element waits expectantly to be beheld and appreciated. The breeze wafting through the garden appears to have momentarily stopped: to allow the vines to straighten their tresses, the flowers to freshen up their bright faces, and the bees, who had been yearning to kiss the blossoms, to do so fearlessly. Chairs are laid out on the smooth carpet of grass. SAEEDA, in a pink dress, is sitting in one, looking as perfect as one of her own portraits. The bright warm sun sets her rosy cheeks still more aglow. In another chair sits MAJEED, serene, puffing a cigarette and blowing bluish smoke rings. In front of both is AMJAD, wearing a look of trapped immobility — very much like the wheelchair in which he sits — pale, but his eyes agleam, fired by SAEEDA’s beauty.

AMJAD (looking around): Absolutely gorgeous weather!

SAEEDA (turning instantly to face him): Yes, indeed, gorgeous.

AMJAD: Go on, Majeed. Take Saeeda for a walk. Show her these hills. (Makes an effort to turn and look behind him but fails.) It’s a shame I can’t turn around. Majeed, get up and turn my wheelchair. I must have this scene in front of me — always.

(MAJEED rises but SAEEDA has in the meantime got up and turned AMJAD’s chair around. All three are now facing the hills, washed by a brilliant sun to the horizon’s end.)

AMJAD (taking in the scene before him): Saeeda, these are the hills I love. I love them so much that I can’t put it into words. (To MAJEED) Go on! Take Saeeda with you for a stroll. (To SAEEDA) Saeeda, when you start panting during your climb and feel as though you’ll never be able to catch your breath, you’ll know there’s no pleasure in the world greater than this. I really used to force Majeed into coming along, but he’d give up after just one slope, saying, ‘Bhaijan, I must say I don’t find this hobby of yours the least bit amusing — that a man should huff and puff and pass out — there’s no sense to it.’ (Laughs.) He never will understand the lure of the hills and the desire to conquer them. Right, Saeeda?

SAEEDA (smiling): Yes.

AMJAD (to majeed): Go on, yaar. Take Saeeda out. Do some work for a change.

MAJEED (to SAEEDA): Let’s go, Bhabhijan. (To AMJAD) But I bet that after today she’ll never go into the hills again.

SAEEDA: No, no! How can you say that?

AMJAD: Because he has that sort of personality.

SAEEDA: That sort of personality? What in the world is that sort of personality?

MAJEED: You’ll find that out halfway up the first slope.

AMJAD (laughs): Rubbish! Saeeda’s life has a mountain blocking its path. If she should be unnerved by a simple ordinary hill. .

SAEEDA: Let’s go now, Majeed Mian.

MAJEED: Let’s go.

(Both exit. AMJAD smiles. ASGHARI enters holding a plate of peeled and sliced apples. Throwing a meaningful look at the exiting MAJEED and SAEEDA, she comes over to AMJAD and addresses him.)

ASGHARI: Here, have some apple.

AMJAD (absorbed in watching SAEEDA and MAJEED go down the slope): All right.

ASGHARI (also looking at the two): How lovely Dulhan Begum looks today.

AMJAD (suddenly turning to face ASGHARI): Looks?

ASGHARI (a trifle discomfited): Yes, yes.

AMJAD (looking back at the two receding figures): She is lovely! She doesn’t just look lovely. ASGHARI, there’s a vast difference between being lovely and just looking lovely.

ASGHARI: Yes, so it is.

AMJAD: Give me some apple.

ASGHARI (offering the plate): Here. But. . but they’ve been peeled.

AMJAD: Are you trying to say something?

ASGHARI: What’s peeled can deceive anyone. (Laughs.) Its blushing red cheeks have been peeled off.

AMJAD (laughing): Asghari! You’re fast turning into a real devil.

ASGHARI (becoming suddenly serious): Devil? Amjad Mian, didn’t you once tell me that the Devil was God’s foremost Angel and refused to bow to Adam — a mere clay doll?

AMJAD: So I did.

ASGHARI: And this ringleader of the angels was punished for it?

AMJAD: Right.

ASGHARI: Then this is right, too.

AMJAD: What?

ASGHARI: Oh, nothing. After all, what’s right? Something you think is right or try to think is right. Or a mistake you make once, confident that it will right itself in due time. Or something that is right but you turn it into a mistake and hope you can make it right later. But this is all nonsense. I’m a dense woman, Amjad Mian.

AMJAD: Why are you talking like this today?

ASGHARI: I said I was dense, but a woman nonetheless, Amjad Mian.

AMJAD: I still don’t get you.

ASGHARI (picking up a wedge of apple and holding it in front of AMJAD’s mouth): Here, you eat some apple.

AMJAD (taking the wedge of apple in his teeth): You’ve never talked like this before.

ASGHARI: It must be the weather. It’s so breathtakingly lovely!

AMJAD: Isn’t it, though?

ASGHARI (picking up another wedge): Here, have another piece. (Puts it into amjad’s open mouth.)

AMJAD (pauses as he chews the apple slice): Asghari!

ASGHARI (wrapped up in the mountain scene, jumps): Yes?

AMJAD: Shouldn’t we get you married?

ASGHARI: Married?

AMJAD: Yes. It’s about time you got married.

ASGHARI: But why, Amjad Mian?

AMJAD: Marriage is a really great thing. Everything in the world should get married. There is no greater joy in life than being married, I’ll tell Ammijan to get you married right away.

ASGHARI: No, Amjad Mian, no!

AMJAD: Why not?

ASGHARI: I’m afraid.

AMJAD: Of what?

ASGHARI (sitting down on the lawn, and speaking in a voice full of dark forebodings): Of marriage.

AMJAD (laughing): You’re crazy.

ASGHARI: No. I really am scared. Besides, the marriage of a maidservant isn’t such a big deal. Whether she marries or remains single, what’s the difference? But if marry she must and, by chance, the train derails and. .

AMJAD (anguished): Asghari!

ASGHARI (continues). . and Asghari barely escapes being made into mincemeat: she loses one leg, one arm, and one eye — half of Asghari disappears and half survives. No, Amjad Mian, don’t even mention marriage. Marriage is something whole, something complete. Something one-half or one-fourth can’t be marriage.

AMJAD (brooding): Asghari?

ASGHARI (in a choked voice): Yes?

AMJAD: You know, you’re right. (In an extremely pained voice) But don’t make me feel sad. I want to stay happy, in spite of my crippled legs. Please don’t torment me. It hurts.

ASGHARI (throwing herself on AMJAD’s feet and grabbing them solicitously): Forgive me — please, Amjad Mian. (Her eyes fill with tears.) I don’t know what I was raving about. You stay happy! God keep you happy!

AMJAD (acting brave): Don’t bring God into it. If He had wanted me to be happy, He wouldn’t have done this to me. And if He had done this, He would have killed me right off. Don’t even mention God; it’s all over between Him and me. If I’m to stay happy, it will have to be with what’s left of me. I’ll have to gather twigs and build myself a nest of happiness on these broken branches.

ASGHARI: Happy. . for your sake alone?

AMJAD (in an extremely pained voice): Asghari! Please, don’t be so cruel! For God’s sake if you must speak, does it have to hurt me? Help me, I beg you. Help an invalid put the broken pieces of his life together to spend his last few remaining days in peace.

ASGHARI: Please don’t beg me, Amjad Mian. It breaks my heart. You’re my master. You can order me. My whole life’s at your bidding.

(ASGHARI cries; big drops of tears stream down from her eyes onto AMJAD’s slippers. She gets up and rushes away. AMJAD bends over and looks at his slippers, wet with ASGHARI’s tears, and then, straightening himself up, at ASGHARI’s receding figure. THE BEGUM appears from the Villa. She’s wearing a shawl and carrying some jewellery boxes. She comes over to AMJAD.)

BEGUM SAHIB: Amjad, my boy.

AMJAD (quickly hiding his feet under his blanket): Yes?

BEGUM SAHIB: The jewellery you picked out for Saeeda has just been delivered. Here. . (Puts the boxes in AMJAD’s lap.)

AMJAD (opens each box with childlike curiosity and looks at every single piece of jewellery, beaming with joy): They’re really very nice. . excellent. . gorgeous. . but not as much as Saeeda. Asghari! Asghari! Come over here! (ASGHARI, who is leaning against a cypress tree, comes back to AMJAD who shows her the entire collection of jewellery.) What do you think?

ASGHARI: You’ve said it for me: they’re beautiful, but not as beautiful as Dulhan Begum.

AMJAD (to the begum): Ammijan, when will the dresses come?

ASGHARI: They’ll be delivered tomorrow.

AMJAD: And the movie projector — why hasn’t it arrived yet?

BEGUM SAHIB: Son, Majeed’s already put in an order for it. It’ll be here in a couple of days.

AMJAD: All right. (After a pause) Mother?

BEGUM SAHIB: Yes, son?

AMJAD: We ought to get something more for Saeeda. I can’t bear to see her sad, even for an instant. We really must have something new for her every day.

BEGUM SAHIB: Everything is within your power. Order anything you like, whenever you like.

AMJAD: Within my power? (Pauses) Well then, Mother. .

BEGUM SAHIB: Yes?

AMJAD: Please send Kamal to the sports shop to buy whatever games he can. Saeeda and Majeed will play. And I can watch. And, yes, please tell him to also buy the sort of stuff that I can play with her too.

BEGUM SAHIB (overcome by a surge of motherly affection holds AMJAD’s head in her hands): Yes, my son.

(AMJAD bursts into sobs. ASGHARI, unable to restrain herself, screams and runs off to one side. Silent tears drip down from THE BEGUM’S eyes.)

(Curtain) ACT IV

The same room as in Acts I and II. It is evening. A breathless silence pervades the room. SAEEDA is sprawled out awkwardly on the bed, her head propped up on a bunch of pillows. While she appears to be reading a book, her eyes are focused, instead, on her heaving bosom, whose alluring contours are outlined by the blanket covering her body. To the left is a steel hospital bed, beside which AMJAD is sitting in his wheelchair holding a book in his hand as though it were some glass object. Again and again, his restless, anxious eyes leave the book and travel to SAEEDA, settling on her hands and sometimes on her head of golden hair buried in the pillows. Unable to hold back any longer, he closes the book, puts it in his lap.

AMJAD (in a low, gentle voice): Saeeda!

SAEEDA (with a start): Yes?

AMJAD: I think you ought to go to bed now.

SAEEDA (turning over to look at him): If you want to go to sleep, I’ll call Ghulam Muhammad and Karim and they’ll put you to bed.

AMJAD (in a hollow voice): Put me to bed. . no, Saeeda. . I’m tired of lying down. . Tonight I’ll sleep right here in my chair. . If it isn’t too much trouble, could you get up and switch off the lamp and turn on the green nightlight?

SAEEDA (rising): Why do you keep talking about my trouble?

AMJAD: Because I’m troubled. I know what it means.

SAEEDA (irritated): I’m well aware of that, Amjad Sahib. But please tell me, what more can I do for you. . I’m willing to do anything within my power. . but the trouble is, you’re always worried about troubling me. I’m not troubled at all.

AMJAD: Saeeda, you’re so good!

SAEEDA (turns off the lamp; for a few moments the room remains plunged in complete darkness, then a dim green light slowly begins to illuminate everything): I wish I were good. . that I could be good. (She sits down on the couch. Her restlessness is evident from her heaving bosom.)

AMJAD: You’re already too good! How could you be any better, Saeeda?

SAEEDA (sharply): No! Little do you know. .

AMJAD (very gently): Forgive me if I’ve offended you in some way.

SAEEDA (looks at amjad, rises from the couch and smiles as she runs her long fingers through his hair): The fact is, Amjad Sahib, I’m not good enough for you.

AMJAD (grabbing her hand): That shows just how good you really are. It’s the purity of your heart that makes you say so.

SAEEDA (continuing to run her fingers through his hair): Go to sleep. You’ve been up so many nights already. In fact, you haven’t slept a wink since you came back home.

AMJAD: I just can’t seem to fall asleep, Saeeda.

SAEEDA: Why?

AMJAD: I don’t know why. . It feels as though I’ve never slept and never will. Now, I can’t even recall the nights when I could sleep.

SAEEDA: How I wish I could give you my sleep.

AMJAD: No, Saeeda. . I wouldn’t want to rob you of such a precious thing. It’s meant for your eyes, which become more beautiful during sleep. Go, sleep now.

SAEEDA: Poor, miserable me. I’ll sleep, of course.

AMJAD: Don’t call yourself miserable. . May God make you fortunate. . Go to sleep now.

SAEEDA (irritated): Why do you always treat me so kindly? It. . Amjad Sahib, it really bothers me. . By God, your gentleness, forbearance and humility — they’ll drive me to insanity some day. (In frustration she rushes to the bed and flings herself on to it.)

AMJAD: I feel as if everything coming out of my mouth is just as crippled as I am.

(SAEEDA remains silent. She turns over in bed to face the other direction. AMJAD picks up the book from his lap and starts flipping its pages. A deathly quiet, made brittle in the dim eerie green light, pervades the room. A long time passes in wearisome silence. The pale green light on amjad’s face looks like the jade-green covering on a grave. His eyes repeatedly rise from the book, travel over to SAEEDA, then furtively return. He looks very restless now.)

AMJAD: Saeeda!

SAEEDA: Yes?

AMJAD: I. . I have a favour to ask you.

SAEEDA (without bothering to turn over): What?

AMJAD: Could. . could this be our wedding night. . (She trembles in her bed.) The night we never had. (After a pause during which she remains silent) Saeeda.

SAEEDA: Yes.

AMJAD: Would you consider my wish?

SAEEDA (flips over to face him, a wounded desire to give herself completely floating in her eyes): How, Amjad Sahib?

AMJAD: Pretend. . just for my sake. . pretend that I’m lying next to you. . And I’ll pretend that you’re lying with me. I’ll say those things to you that I wanted to say on our first night. . and you answer as you would have. . Please, Saeeda, for my sake. . could you play this make-believe game for me?

SAEEDA (tears of pity replacing the earlier wounded desire to give herself in her eyes): I’m ready, Amjad Sahib.

AMJAD: Thank you! (After a long pause) Tonight is our first night, Saeeda. . the night when youth takes its first step into earthly paradise. . the night into whose spaciousness two beings plunge to become one. . Don’t be shy. . For this is the night when all concealed truths restlessly await their inevitable unveiling; when just a soft whisper, a gentle sigh, a light caress, the slightest puff of escaping breath is enough to blow their veils aside. . so gently that one barely hears a rustle and yet is instantly face-to-face with Vision in all its resplendent glory; when eyes collide setting off a cascade of dazzling stardust that falls on the foreheads of two who have become one. This is the night. . the first, the very first night. . when Eve was formed from Adam’s rib. . this is the night that poets pray will never end. . this is the night the young often wish for. . this is the night when Nature itself unties the knots of modesty. . this is the night when all of Creation’s workshops concentrate on producing just one item. . the cog that gives motion and life to the whole Universe. . this is the night when all sounds subside into their points of origin to let the one sound that resonates with the command ‘BE!’ be heard clearly. . This is the night whose every veil is woven with silvery threads of light. . this is the night in whose presence all subsequent nights stand in reverential attendance. . this is the night in which every pore of the body speaks out without inhibition and listens raptly to the great untold secrets. . the great unsung melodies. . (Abruptly screams) Cover it! Cover it. . cover your body, Saeeda. . It’s biting me like a snake. . It’s slashing my crippled desires like a razor’s edge. . Cover it. . for God’s sake cover your body!

SAEEDA (lying like a dead body made of tender blades of grass in the green light, with every part of her body trembling): Yes.

AMJAD (crying uncontrollably): Cover your body!

(SAEEDA pulls the blanket over her tremulous body while AMJAD, his hand over his face, continues to cry.)

(Curtain) ACT V

The garden adjacent to Nigar Villa. Evening. Water gurgling in the fountain. The shadows have lengthened. The grey hills in the background look even more sombre in the ebbing light. The sky is ashen. A solid silence has settled over the lush green lawn. The lawn chairs are unoccupied, the whole atmosphere vacant, like an empty picture frame waiting to be filled. The sound of MAJEED’s and SAEEDA’s laughter intrudes. Moments later they both walk in laughing, exhausted. SAEEDA slumps over in a chair while MAJEED stands by her.

SAEEDA (pounding her thighs with her fists): Ooooh!

MAJEED (laughing): Tired? Shall I give you a rubdown? Let me. .

SAEEDA (flustered): Oh no! Please, no! Just send for Asghari. Right now I couldn’t move two steps.

MAJEED (smiling): As you say. (Steps forward and pushes aside a loose curl snaking over SAEEDA’s face.)

SAEEDA (even more flustered): I think I’ll go inside now. (Begins to rise.)

MAJEED (looking off to one side): Look, here comes Asghari on her own. Over here, Asghari! Give Bhabhijan’s feet a massage.

(ASGHARI enters. The ends of her mouth quiver as though impatient to say something. She comes closer.)

ASGHARI (to SAEEDA): Tired, Dulhan Begum?

SAEEDA (drumming her thighs with her fists): Very!

ASGHARI (sits down on the grass and begins to massage one of SAEEDA’s calves vigorously, but her words are intended for MAJEED): This is all Majeed Mian’s fault. Such a long hike and so fast at that (sharply). . one ought to proceed slowly (rubbing slowly down SAEEDA’s leg) like this. . slowly. (Addressing SAEEDA) Feel any better, Dulhan Begum?

SAEEDA (her free leg quivering nervously): Yes, yes, much better.

ASGHARI (to MAJEED): Majeed Mian, you should go wash up. Your face is so dusty it looks like an unwashed potato.

MAJEED (snaps): You’ve really become quite cheeky. All this. .

ASGHARI (interrupting him): Blame Dulhan Begum, she’s spoiled me. (Looks at SAEEDA) And what a lovely face she has.

(majeed exits, his eyes radiating suppressed anger.)

ASGHARI (laughing): By God’s grace Majeed Mian has a nice handsome face, but it looks so grotesque when he’s angry. What do you think?

SAEEDA: Don’t say such things to me. (Tries to get up but is thwarted by asghari’s iron grip.) Let me go!

ASGHARI (continues to massage): I don’t want to deprive myself of the pleasure of serving you. (Removes the sandals from SAEEDA’s feet.) Majeed Mian said that I’ve become cheeky. Have I, Dulhan Begum?

SAEEDA: Absolutely.

ASGHARI (unperturbed, cracking SAEEDA’s toes): This is horrible. A servant should never be cheeky. You should box my ears.

SAEEDA: Be quiet!

ASGHARI: That’s not fair! Preventing someone from speaking is downright tyrannical, Dulhan Begum. What have I said that offends you so?

SAEEDA (agitated): Everything you say offends me.

ASGHARI: What can poor Asghari do now? (After a pause) I thought I’d learned all there was to learn serving an educated mistress like yourself for a whole year. Now I see I was wrong. . I haven’t learned a thing. . but whose fault is that — the pupil’s or the teacher’s?

SAEEDA (pulling her legs away and speaking in a clear, decisive tone of voice): What is it that you really want to say?

ASGHARI (with feigned surprise): Me?

SAEEDA: Yes, you. What do you really want to say?

ASGHARI (thinking): Oh, there’s a whole lot I want to say. .

SAEEDA (rising and walking barefoot on the grass): Then spit it out! I don’t particularly enjoy your daily needling. I’m ready to hear you out.

ASGHARI: You really are brave, Dulhan Begum.

SAEEDA: Brave or cowardly — leave that out of it. Get whatever you want to say out of your system.

ASGHARI: Spit it out? All right. But it will nauseate both of us.

SAEEDA: Don’t bother about me. I’ll manage.

ASGHARI (thinking): I used to think you’d cower when I bared my fangs. But I see you’re past worrying about being wounded. . It’s you who frightens me now.

SAEEDA (pacing nervously to and fro): Asghari!

ASGHARI (startled): Yes?

SAEEDA: Just tell me this: what would I have done if Amjad Mian had died in the train wreck?

ASGHARI: You? I don’t know what you would have done.

SAEEDA: I’m young. I’m beautiful. . numberless desires surge inside of me. For seventeen long years I’ve nurtured them with the nectar of my dreams. How can I stifle them? I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried, Asghari. . but I couldn’t bring myself to strangle them. Call me weak. . cowardly. . immoral. . whatever you like. . And although you’re just a maid, nonetheless I confess before you that I cannot ravage the garden of my youth, where the vein of every leaf and flower throbs with the hot blood of my unfulfilled desires. . No, not with my own hands. . though I wouldn’t mind someone else closing my eyes. . numbing up all my senses and lowering me into the deepest pit of widowhood or old age. . or with just one push hurling me off this quaking cliff of desire where I’ve stood to this day huddled against the cold, gusting wind. . I’d even allow you to do that.

ASGHARI (rising, feeling battered): Enough, Dulhan Begum, enough!

SAEEDA: I stand at a crossroads where the ground quakes under my feet. Whichever way I turn, it turns away from me. . Whatever I plan slips from my grasp; I rush after it pell-mell, and when I’ve caught it, it crumbles in my hand like sand. . Asghari, you don’t know how long I’ve been rolling around on this bed of live coals. When I douse them with water, the rising steam carries me to the highest point in space, only to hurl me down — ravaged, battered and mauled. . Every single bone in my body has been crushed. It would’ve been much better, Asghari, if I had been crippled instead of Amjad Sahib. (After a long pause, during which ASGHARI stands frozen, while SAEEDA paces to and fro extremely agitated) Tell me, what should I do?

ASGHARI (roused from her thoughts): What should you do?. . You should. . you should wait until Amjad Mian dies.

SAEEDA (after a moment’s thought): Call me heartless if you will. . but I have to ask. . When will he die?

ASGHARI: When God wills. (Mumbles) But Amjad Mian has cut off relations with Him.

SAEEDA: What? What did you say?

ASGHARI: Nothing. (Taking hesitant steps, she exits.)

(SAEEDA continues to pace fretfully on the cool, comforting grass.)

(Curtain) ACT VI

A large, spacious living room in Nigar Villa decorated with old-style furnishings that exude an aura of heaviness and durability. Oil paintings of various family members hang on the walls. One is of THE BEGUM from the time when she was young. She is sitting directly beneath it on the sofa. The gaiety and the carefree look of the painting contrast sharply with her present care-ridden face, ravaged by dark anxiety and sorrow. She’s knitting something out of wool, but it seems more like she’s untangling her confused thoughts that tangle up again like the yarn. ASGHARI enters.

BEGUM SAHIB: Did you find Majeed Mian?

ASGHARI: Yes.

BEGUM SAHIB: Where was he?

ASGHARI: In the garden.

BEGUM SAHIB: What was he doing?

ASGHARI: He. . (faltering) he was sitting there, all by himself.

BEGUM SAHIB (looking at ASGHARI and then lowering her gaze): Is he coming?

ASGHARI: Yes, he is.

BEGUM SAHIB: You may go now.

(ASGHARI leaves just as MAJEED enters, looking at her.)

MAJEED: What is it, Mother?

BEGUM SAHIB: Oh, nothing. Sit down.

MAJEED (sitting in the chair near the couch): It’s chilly in here.

BEGUM SAHIB: Yes, quite chilly.

MAJEED (after a pause; uneasily): I have the distinct feeling that you’ve called me here because you have something to say.

BEGUM SAHIB: Yes. .

MAJEED: Well? I’m listening.

BEGUM SAHIB: I want to send you away from here.

MAJEED (rising suddenly): Me? Where?

BEGUM SAHIB: Sit down.

MAJEED (sitting): Okay.

BEGUM SAHIB: I haven’t told Amjad yet.

MAJEED (rises again): About what?

BEGUM SAHIB: That I’m sending you away.

MAJEED: But why? I mean. . is it some important business or. .?

BEGUM SAHIB: Sit down.

MAJEED (sitting down again): Is it?

BEGUM SAHIB: No.

MAJEED: Then why, may I ask, do you feel it necessary to send me away?

BEGUM SAHIB: Because I think it’s better this way.

MAJEED: Better? Better for whom?

BEGUM SAHIB: For all of us. . for the family.

MAJEED (gets up again): You’re talking in riddles, Mother.

BEGUM SAHIB: Majeed, you’re my son and I’m your mother. . Nothing should happen between us that would stain this sacred relationship. . I want you to leave for Karachi today and stay there for as long as I say.

MAJEED: But, Mother. .

BEGUM SAHIB (cutting him short): You have plenty of friends there. I’m sure that with their help, or just on your own, you’ll get your boat safely ashore through this maelstrom we call life.

MAJEED (wants to say something, but fails and sits back down): Okay. . I’ll go.

BEGUM SAHIB: Your decision. . (Drops into silence as she notices AMJAD enter the room in his wheelchair pushed by karim.)

AMJAD: You’re a strange fellow, Majeed. . All this time I was waiting for you in my room so we could decide what to get Saeeda for her birthday. . Instead, I find you lounging around here. (To THE BEGUM) Ammijan. . so have you thought of something for a present? What kind should it be?. . I’m going crazy thinking about it.

BEGUM SAHIB: Why don’t you ask Saeeda?

AMJAD (laughs): Listen to that. You’re the limit, Mother dear. . If I ask her it wouldn’t be a surprise, no fun. (To MAJEED) Well, Majeed? (MAJEED remains silent) Speak up!

MAJEED (rising): Ask Ammijan. As for me. . well, I’m leaving.

AMJAD (surprised): Leaving? Wherever for?

MAJEED: Karachi.

AMJAD: Have you gone mad? Karachi. . What for?

MAJEED: What for?. . (With a faint smile) To get my boat out of a maelstrom.

AMJAD (to THE BEGUM): What’s happened to him? (To MAJEED) Sit down, yaar. . The day after tomorrow is her birthday. . we should make a decision right now.

MAJEED: The decision has been made.

AMJAD: What?

MAJEED: That I’m going to Karachi for good.

AMJAD: What are you babbling about? (To THE BEGUM) Mother, what is all this?

BEGUM SAHIB: Nothing. . just a little mother — son quarrel.

AMJAD: Over what?

BEGUM SAHIB: That you can’t ask.

AMJAD: I may be overstepping myself. . but Majeed is my brother. If there’s been a misunderstanding between the two of you then it’s my duty to clear it up. . I know Majeed better than you do. . He couldn’t possibly do something that would cause such a problem. (To MAJEED) Hey, come over here.

MAJEED: Bhaijan, I’ve got to pack now.

AMJAD: For heaven’s sake. . what’s going on? (To THE BEGUM) Ammijan, for God’s sake, stop him! If not for me, then for Saeeda’s sake. He’s the only one here who keeps her spirits from sagging. He does so much for me. If you were to let him go, God knows what’ll become of me, Ammijan. Whenever he takes Saeeda out for a stroll, I imagine I’m the one who’s walking with her; whenever he plays some game with her, I feel the great void in my life created by Fate’s cruel hands beginning to fill. I often say to myself, ‘Amjad, what would your life be without Majeed for a brother? The debris of your life wouldn’t even be fit for the garbage dump.’ Please stop him. Why are you separating us? Don’t play God, Ammijan. (Breaks into sobs.)

MAJEED: Ammijan, I’m leaving.

BEGUM SAHIB: Wait!

(MAJEED stops.)

BEGUM SAHIB (gets up and begins to stroke AMJAD’s head affectionately): Son, don’t cry. . Majeed’s not going anywhere. . everything will stay right where it belongs, for that’s the will of God. (To MAJEED) You sit down with your brother and think about Saeeda’s birthday gift. (Exits.)

MAJEED (after thinking for a while moves towards AMJAD’s wheelchair and speaks in a hushed voice): Bhaijan, please let me go.

AMJAD (lifting his head up): Let you go? Go where? Don’t be crazy!

MAJEED: You don’t understand.

AMJAD: I understand everything. Take out your handkerchief and wipe my tears, come on. (After some hesitation MAJEED takes out his handkerchief and begins to wipe away AMJAD’s tears rather hastily.) What are you doing, yaar? Not like that! You don’t even know how to wipe tears. . (Smiles) It’s really such a simple thing, you know.

MAJEED: Not as simple as you think, Bhaijan.

AMJAD (still smiling): All right, then, it isn’t. It’s a formidable task. . Anyway, come and sit beside me. We’ve got to think about Saeeda’s birthday gift. Sit!

MAJEED (sitting down in a chair beside AMJAD): So think!

AMJAD (sighing): I’m thinking, I’m thinking! What else is there to do? But you have to think, too. (Both of them lapse into deep thought.)

(Curtain) ACT VII

The garden adjacent to Nigar Villa. Evening. The water coming out of the fountain has stopped, as though it has bubbled itself out. In the background, the sombre grey hills are trying to hide their formidable height in the evening mist. The grass appears to be heavily trampled. To the right, away from the fountain and behind the dense shrubbery, sits AMJAD in his wheelchair. ASGHARI is standing behind him holding the handles of the chair. Presently she begins to push it.

AMJAD: No, Asghari, wait a bit.

ASGHARI (stops): But Amjad Mian. .

AMJAD: I want to receive the last wound of my life tonight.

ASGHARI: If receive it you must, why not in your imagination? But. . but haven’t you been dealt that wound already? Why must you insist on reopening it?

AMJAD (attempting to smile): There’s no limit to the stupidity of a man in my condition. . He rips open the stitches of his wounds to probe inside; feels the stab of pain and considers himself the greatest martyr there ever was. (Laughs) Asghari, you’ve never had something of yours destroyed. How can you ever know the misery of people who having sunk into the depths of despair try to mould anew the debris, the rubble of their destruction into tall, imposing structures.

ASGHARI (smiling): I’ve gone beyond even that, Amjad Mian. . I’ve built those tall, gigantic structures and then torn them down with my own hands. . and in the process, calluses have formed in my heart.

AMJAD (shudders): Asghari, you frighten me. Yes, you really do.

ASGHARI (laughs): I’m a wasteland. Every wasteland is frightening, though it shouldn’t be. It doesn’t have the time to mourn itself, much less frighten others. It just cowers. . timidly.

AMJAD: Have you also had some misfortune or other in your life then?

ASGHARI: NO! What misfortune can possibly befall a person who is herself a misfortune!

AMJAD: You sound as though you’ve been singed.

ASGHARI: Only because now you can sense the burning.

AMJAD: You mean this sense was asleep before?

ASGHARI: Yes. . sound asleep.

AMJAD: What woke it up?

ASGHARI: The train that went off the track.

AMJAD (muttering): The train. . that went off the track . . (A little louder) Will it derail again?

ASGHARI: Whatever God wishes will come to pass.

AMJAD: Don’t mention God. . He and I are no longer friends.

ASGHARI: No, Amjad Mian. Miserable as we are, our bond with Him is never severed. . However much and however often we may break it, it just mends itself again.

AMJAD: That’s nonsense.

(Suddenly they are startled by the sound of approaching feet. MAJEED and SAEEDA appear, both out of breath. SAEEDA, who looks extremely fatigued, sits down on the rim of the fountain while MAJEED remains standing.)

SAEEDA: I really am tired today.

MAJEED: Even though we didn’t walk very far.

SAEEDA: That’s true.

MAJEED (after a pause): It would’ve been infinitely better if I had left for Karachi.

SAEEDA: I guess so.

MAJEED: I’m caught in a strange dilemma. I could have gone to Karachi. . but the question is: Would I have succeeded in bringing my boat ashore through this maelstrom?. . No, I would never have made it.

SAEEDA: I know.

MAJEED: You know. . and I know. . Just about everyone but Bhaijan knows. And that’s the most agonizing part of the story.

SAEEDA: I’ve often thought of telling him, but (rising abruptly) I’m afraid the shock will kill him.

MAJEED: Exactly. That’s what I fear most, too. The doctors are unanimous that he has, at the most, a year to live. . It would be downright cruel to snatch even this bit from the poor man.

(Behind the cover of the shrubbery AMJAD suddenly clenches his teeth. ASGHARI firmly grasps his shoulder.)

SAEEDA: We must try to keep him happy as long as he lives. His feelings are sensitive to the lightest touch. We have to be careful.

MAJEED: What if one of our own blisters bursts in the process. .

SAEEDA (almost screaming): That would be disastrous!

MAJEED: All the more reason why I should go away. . Until Bhaijan. .

SAEEDA (cutting him short): Don’t talk like that, Majeed. . don’t be so cruel.

(AMJAD trembles in his wheelchair. ASGHARI clutches his other shoulder firmly as well.)

MAJEED: Love is always cruel and selfish, Saeeda. It’s not even ashamed of dancing for joy on another man’s grave.

SAEEDA: We mustn’t think such things.

MAJEED: You’re right, but what if such thoughts drift in on their own?

SAEEDA: What can we do?. . Let’s go in.

(SAEEDA starts off towards the villa. MAJEED follows with a soft, slow stride. Behind the bushes AMJAD sits in his wheelchair with his head hung low. ASGHARI stands directly behind him, immobile like a statue.)

ASGHARI: Should we go in now?

AMJAD (his head still hung low): No, not now. . I’m thinking.

ASGHARI: About what?

AMJAD: I don’t know. Maybe I’m thinking about what I should be thinking.

ASGHARI: That’s useless thinking.

AMJAD (lifting his head): Don’t I know that? What else can I do? (After a pause) You’re even more cruel than they are. You won’t even let me think. You’re really cruel, Asghari.

ASGHARI (smiles): Love is cruel and selfish, Amjad Mian. It doesn’t even hesitate to dance at its own death.

AMJAD: Come in front of me. (ASGHARI goes over in front of AMJAD, who looks into her eyes, thinks of something, and then mutters) Where was this book all this time?

ASGHARI: Somewhere in the wastebasket. . where it properly belongs.

AMJAD: Let’s go. Take me inside.

(ASGHARI begins to push the wheelchair towards the house.)

(Curtain) ACT VIII

The same room as in Acts I, II and IV. It is night. An emerald-green light filters down from the ceiling giving everything in the room a sickly hue. The bed is empty — as if it had never been occupied. ASGHARI wheels AMJAD into the room.

ASGHARI: What made Dulhan Begum move out into Begum Sahib’s room?

AMJAD: She was afraid.

ASGHARI: Of you?

AMJAD (smiling ruefully): Who’d be afraid of me?. . She was afraid of herself.

ASGHARI: She isn’t all that vulnerable, Amjad Mian.

AMJAD: Time eats even the biggest mountains hollow. She’s just a young woman.

ASGHARI (after a pause): Do you want to sleep now?

AMJAD: Sleep? (Laughs) Don’t mock me, Asghari. Don’t disgrace my misery. . my burning wounds.

ASGHARI (after another pause): Do you love Saeeda?

AMJAD: NO!

ASGHARI: Then why the burning wounds?

AMJAD: Let me think. . Will you let me think?

ASGHARI: Go right ahead.

AMJAD (after a protracted pause during which he remains totally immersed in thought): I don’t love Saeeda. . I certainly don’t. Just as one picks the nicest thing from the market, I picked Saeeda from among countless other women to be my wife. I was proud of my choice and rightly so. She is beautiful beyond all comparison. The only right I have over her is that I chose her and made her my mate for life. . the same life which now lies in a crumpled heap in this wheelchair and can’t move without someone’s help. . The doctors have given me a year to live at most. . I can’t understand why I want to keep her shackled in chains whose every link is as uncertain as my life. . I don’t understand it at all. . (He thinks for a while.) There can only be one reason for it: her youth and beauty (with a start), of course! This has to be the only reason! (Feeling a stab of pain) Oh! Oh! That vision. . I can never forget it. . She. . beauty itself. . lying in this canopied bed, in all her breathtaking youth, her ardour, her tenderness. . putting the choicest silks of the world to shame. . this vision clings to me. . No, rather, I have clung to it. . (After a pause) Asghari!

ASGHARI (startled): Yes.

AMJAD: Could there be a way to expel this vision from my thoughts?

ASGHARI: Every problem carries its solution within it.

AMJAD: Then we must look for the solution. But. . but why do I feel so diffident?

ASGHARI: I don’t know. This is your problem. Certainly there would be no shame if you were to look for the solution yourself.

AMJAD: I know. I know. . I’m well aware of all the base desires that inflame this passion. But this matter will be decided tonight.

ASGHARI: What matter?

AMJAD: Come in front of me. (She does so.) Go and lie on the bed!

ASGHARI (hesitates): Amjad Mian? I don’t have the youthful beauty that puts the world’s choicest silks to shame. My poor youth — all it needs is a piece of coarse burlap.

AMJAD: Go lie on the bed, Asghari!

ASGHARI (tears streaming down her eyes): No, Amjad Mian, it’ll be unkind to the bed. . it’s become used to Dulhan Begum’s soft, delicate body.

AMJAD: That’s an order!

ASGHARI (lowering her head in submission): You’re the master. (Lies down on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.)

AMJAD: Do you know what night this is? . .This is the night when a crushed, warped, and worthless youth is about to become whole. This is the night of resurrection, of annihilation. Under its dark cloak Existence will melt in the fires of Non-Existence to assume a new, immortal form. . No other night will follow this night. Its blind eyes will come wearing such collyrium that its blindness will be transformed into interminable, clear vision. This is the night when the last drops of Life itself will trickle out, terrified, from the mangled udders of Death. The night when grand palaces, their turrets reaching to the heavens, will rise from the womb of destruction and the waters of Zamzam and crawl back into the farthest reaches of the earth, replaced by clouds of dust with which the pure souls will cleanse themselves; and the Author of Fate will overturn His inkpot and wistfully weep in some lonely corner of the sky. Tonight Amjad divorces, in an irrevocable divorce, all the Beauty of this world and marries in its place Ugliness (suddenly screams), Asghari. . Asghari. .!

(In the meantime ASGHARI has risen from the bed, gone over to the window and opened it. She is poised on the windowsill, looking down intently into the depths below.)

AMJAD (screaming): What are you doing, Asghari?

ASGHARI (turns around on the windowsill and looks at AMJAD): Proposal and consent are necessary. . my master. (Flings herself out.)

AMJAD (covering his eyes with both hands): Asghari! (Removes his hands and stares for a few moments at the open window that yawns like a dark wound on the green wall.) Proposal and consent (murmurs) proposal and consent — yes, indeed! (Pushes his wheelchair forward with both of his hands and manages to reach the window with great effort.) I knew. . I knew this was the way to solve my problem. . but perhaps I needed someone to hold my hand. (Grasps the windowsill and with great difficulty heaves his crippled body on to it and lets it hang over the other side.) My hills! My dear hills! My dear Asghari! (His body slips over and then instantly his entire being is lost in the darkness.)

(Curtain)

Co-translated with Wayne R. Husted and Azam Dadi