දැන් මුරලි ඕස්ට්‍රේලියාවේ සංචාරය කරන්නෑ. එයා කියන්නේ අම්පයර්ට සමාව දෙන්න පුළුවන්, ප්‍රේක්ෂකයන්ටත් සමාව දෙන්න පුළුවන්, හැබැයි ජෝන් හවඩ්ට සමාව දෙන්න බෑ කියලයි. (Now Murali refuses to tour to Australia. He says he can forgive the umpire, he can forgive the crowds, but he can’t forgive John Howard.)
Beat.
2001දී මගේ අම්මයි තාත්තයි ආවා රණවිරු සමරුවකට. එදා ඒ සෙනග අතර ඉඳලා දෙමල කොටියෙක්, බැඳගෙන හිටපු බෝම්බෙ පුපුරවාගත්තා. සීසීකඩ විසිරිලා තිබිච්ච අම්මගෙයි තාත්තගෙයි කොටස් ටික එකතු කරගන්න, එතන හිටපු පොලිස් රාලහාමි කෙනෙක් මට උදවු වුණා … නැත්තන් මට ඒ දෙන්නව අඳුරගන්නවත් බැහැ. (In 2001, my parents were at a service commemorating our army war heroes. A Tamil Tiger blew himself up in the middle of it. I couldn’t properly identify my mother and father until a policeman helped me re-connect some of their body parts.)
අර මිනිහට වද දුන්නු හැම පාරම මම හිතුවේ ඒ දෙන්නා ගැන. ඒ පරයා මෙලෝ තොරතුරක් දුන්නෑ අපිට. සමහරවිට ඌ මොකුත් දන්නේ නැතුවත් ඇති. සමහරවිට ඌ නිකමෙක් වෙන්න ඇති. ඒත්, ඌට වේදනාවක් දැනෙන හැම වතාවෙම මට මොකද්දෝ පහසුවක් දැනුනා. (Every time I tortured that man [he gestures to Thirru] I thought of my parents. The bastard never gave us any information. Probably he doesn’t know anything. Probably he is nobody in particular. Still I felt a little bit better every time he felt a little bit worse.)
The jailor puts the radio down and walks up to Thirru. He drags him to his feet, pushes him out of the cell and gives him an NGO-branded package of basic essentials.
Thirru: [Tamil] I don’t understand.
JAILOR: No Tamil. Sinhala only.
Thirru: මට තේරෙන්නේ නෑ. (I don’t understand.)
The jailor looks through the package and takes most of it. Gives the rest to Thirru.
JAILOR: Someone has released you. Go!
In the cricket commentary, Muralitharan gets a wicket for Sri Lanka. Thirru listens:
COMMENTARY: ඔව් … මුරලිදරන් ඔහුගේ 500වැනි කඩුල්ල ලබාගන්නවා! කණ්ඩායමේ අනෙක් ක්‍රීඩකයන් උණුසුම් සුභපැතුම් සමඟ ඔහුව වැලඳගන්නවා … (And that’s Muralitharan’s five hundredth wicket! Look at the love from his team mates!)
JAILOR: කම්-ඕන් මචං! (Good one machaan!)
The jailor’s focus returns to the cricket. With a slight wobble of the head, he indicates the man is free to go. As the man exits:
Thirru: අවුරුද්ද? (What year is it?)
JAILOR: දෙදාස් හතර. (2004.)
Thirru: Twenty-one years …
Confused and speechless, he takes his battered old book and exits.
COMMENTARY: ෂේන් වොන් රැස් කර ඇති කඩුළු සංඛ්‍යාව පන්සිය එකයි.. … මේ ටෙස්ට් තරඟයේදී ඔහුගේ වාර්තාව අභිබවා යන්නට මුරලිට හැකි වේද? (Shane Warne is on five hundred and one—can Murali overtake him within this test match, do you think?)
JAILOR: මුරලි කියන්නේ ‘වෙනස්කම් නැති අපේ ක්‍රිකට් කණ්ඩායම දිහා බලලා, අපේ දෙකඩ වෙච්ච රට, ඉගෙනගන්න ඕනේ‘ කියලා. ‘පහුගිය ප්‍රශ්න අමතක කරලා සමාව දෙන්න ඕනේ’ කියලා. ඒත් මට බැහැ අමතක කරන්න. මං ලෑස්ති නෑ සමාව දෙන්න. මුරලි, ජෝන් හවඩ්ට, සමාව දෙන්නැහැනේ … ඒ වගේ. (Murali says ‘Our divided country should learn from our cricket team—no differences.’ That we should ‘forget our past troubles and forgive’. But I can’t forget. And I won’t forgive. Just like Murali won’t forgive John Howard.)
SCENE FIVE
Siddhartha is on the front porch. He’s playing solitaire and drinking a beer. The commentary repeats itself from the previous scene, this time in English.
COMMENTARY: And Murali gets another wicket! Now he’s even with Shane Warne …
SIDDHARTHA: Ooooooh.
ISMET: [offstage] Ary be hal computer, ary be emik! (Fuck this computer, fuck its mum.)
Ismet enters.
The world is shit! You.
SIDDHARTHA: Hello Ismet.
ISMET: Okay hello, polite, yes. Hello neighbour. Come with me.
SIDDHARTHA: I beg your pardon—
ISMET: I am trying to use Skippy to call my son in Turkey.
SIDDHARTHA: Skippy?
ISMET: Eh?
SIDDHARTHA: What is Skippy?
ISMET: How am I supposed to know? This is what your mother told me you would tell me. Come.
SIDDHARTHA: Ah so you met my—
ISMET: I want to use the phone. He says, no we don’t pay for phone calls anymore. We use this Skippy.
SIDDHARTHA: Oh, Skype! It’s Skype. Not Skippy.
ISMET: Doesn’t matter. This boy, he wants to save two dollars on a phone call but he buys his kids stupid expensive presents they don’t need. What is wrong with your generation, boy?
SIDDHARTHA: That sounds like something my mum would say.
ISMET: She is a good woman.
SIDDHARTHA: Did she tell how to do your job—
ISMET: Boy. Focus. I can’t get my motherfucker computer to turn on. I don’t have this Skippy program. My son is waiting for me to talk. Do you know these things? Will you help me?
Beat.
SIDDHARTHA: I’m waiting for someone.
ISMET: Son. I don’t say this often. I need some help.
Beat.
SIDDHARTHA: Hold on.
Siddhartha writes a message on a small piece of paper.
Radha enters her apartment. She sits in the chair, leans back and turns on the air conditioner.
Siddhartha finishes writing.
ISMET: Very good. Come!
Siddhartha and ismet enter Ismet’s study and ismet points to the computer.
There. Fix it.
Siddhartha checks the computer cables. He climbs under Ismet’s table.
My son says God is not real. He doesn’t go to the mosque with his mother anymore. How can one be so arrogant as to not believe in God? Here we stick to it; over there, they have moved on. Here, I still have my chair that I made with my grandfather.
Ismet hits the computer table hard. Siddhartha gets a shock.
Four generations old.
SIDDHARTHA: [pressing the on button on the computer] Wow. You made a chair?
ISMET: I made a chair. Still strong.
He hits the table again. Siddhartha jumps. The computer makes its ‘on’ sound.
How did you do that? I have been trying to make that work for days!
SIDDHARTHA: A couple of cables were round the wrong way.
ISMET: Ibn al sharmouta. (Son of a whore.)
SIDDHARTHA: I need your son’s Skype name …
Ismet stares at him.
Of course. That’s okay, we’ll find him, I just need his name, address— And I’ll need to make you a Skype nam
e too. Ismet, yeah?
Ismet gives siddhartha a piece of paper with the details.
Radha picks up the Turkish Delight.
ISMET: Yes. And what was your name again, boy?
SIDDHARTHA: I’m Sid.
ISMET: You’re Sri Lankan and you’re called Sid? Sid is the brother of my blonde Australian second ex-wife. How can you be called Sid?
SIDDHARTHA: I’m not Sri Lankan, I’m Australian. My mum is Sri Lankan. And Sid is short for Siddhartha.
ISMET: What?
SIDDHARTHA: Siddhartha. It was Buddha’s—
ismet stares at him.
Oh forget it. [He returns to the computer.] We’re almost there …
Ismet starts typing on his phone.
Lily enters and reads Siddhartha’s message.
What are you doing?
ISMET: I’ll tell you in a moment. Keep going.
SIDDHARTHA: I’m creating a user name called ‘ISMETSKIPPY’. Awesome! It’s available. You cool with that?
Ismet grunts and continues typing on his phone.
Okay then. And … done!
The Skype call starts ringing.
ISMET: Boy—
SIDDHARTHA: That’s calling now.
ISMET: Can I ask you a question?
SIDDHARTHA: Sure but your Skype call’s ringing.
ISMET: I am thinking maybe I will ask your mother out for dinner. What do you think?
SIDDHARTHA: Sorry? You—
ISMET: I’m going to send her a ‘text’, to ask her.
Radha puts the Turkish Delight in her mouth.
Lily picks up Siddhartha’s beer and has a sip.
SIDDHARTHA: Um …
ISMET: [as in, couldn’t hurt] Why not?
SIDDHARTHA: You’re going to what?
The Skype call stops ringing.
ISMET’S SON: Hello? Hello? Dad?
SIDDHARTHA: Are you seriously going to text my mum?
ISMET’S SON: Who’s that?
ISMET: [to SIDDHARTHA] Sssssh. Ah— Hello?
ISMET’S SON: Dad? Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours!
ISMET: [turning to siddhartha] Thank you.
ISMET’S SON: Dad?
ISMET: Wa’if yaa ibny, wa’if. (Wait son, wait.)
Ismet waves to siddhartha to go.
SIDDHARTHA: I don’t know what to say.
ISMET: Go home. The girl is waiting.
SIDDHARTHA: I’m not sure you—
ISMET: [presses send] There. I did it. I just asked your mother out for dinner!
Radha’s phone beeps a message. Her mouth is full of Turkish Delight.
Ismet turns and talks to his son in Arabic.
Siddhartha stands watching for a moment, then leaves in a hurry.
Radha looks at the message … and laughs. The Turkish Delight erupts from her mouth. She puts her phone down.
RADHA: The optimist! [She laughs.] Oh dear. Oh no. [She laughs.] Oh dear. Oh no.
Big cheers in the cricket commentary.
Radha gets a bottle of wine and a glass.
Ridiculous.
Siddhartha finds lily on his porch.
SIDDHARTHA: Hello.
LILY: Hi.
Pause.
SIDDHARTHA: Hello.
LILY: Yeah, hi.
SIDDHARTHA: Yeah.
RADHA: Ridiculous.
LILY: … You right?
SIDDHARTHA: Sorry I was just next door. Can I … doesn’t matter.
Radha laughs and wipes her eyes.
RADHA: Mooroha, Ganesha, Shiva …
LILY: You talk a lot less during the daytime.
SIDDHARTHA: [suddenly] Can I take you to dinner tonight?
Radha pours a glass of wine.
LILY: Yeah okay.
SIDDHARTHA: Okay. What time? Now? Or—
LILY: It’s a bit early.
SIDDHARTHA: It is.
LILY: But yes, you can.
SIDDHARTHA: Good. Great. Great.
Radha drinks the whole glass of wine.
LILY: Is that a full deck of cards?
SIDDHARTHA: Yeah.
Lily sits down and shuffles expertly.
Radha goes to her phone.
LILY: I’ll play you a game of rummy. Real money.
SIDDHARTHA: You’re on. My ammamma taught me.
LILY: You should know my aunties taught me so just be prepared for me to kick your arse, and then you can take me to Iron Chef in Cabra. Cut the deck.
They begin to play.
Commentary continues through the radio.
Radha pours another glass of wine.
Ismet and his son talk away in a mixture of English and Arabic.
Siddhartha opens another beer.
Radha begins to write a reply on her phone.
They all continue, radha, siddhartha and lily, the cricket game, ismet and his Skype call. A gentle hubbub of life.
Radha’s landline rings. She looks to it.
A Sri Lankan woman, Old nihinsa, enters, sweeping the stage.
We are now in …
SCENE SIX
Colombo. The front porch of a grand old house on Milagiriya Avenue.
OLD Nihinsa sweeps the porch.
Sunil enters, moving down onto the front porch. He’s on the phone. He carries a book. He drinks whiskey.
SUNIL: So the Pandavas and the Kauravas—the two great families of the land—face each other, ready for battle. Arjuna is the Pandava’s greatest warrior. Lord Krishna, his charioteer, readies his conch for the battle cry. And—just at this moment—Arjuna falters. He has gurus, friends, relations on the other side of the battle line. How can he kill his own teachers? His own flesh and blood? And here my Italian friend is where Krishna reveals himself in his cosmic manifestation. He shares his divine wisdoms with Arjuna. ‘Do not yield to unmanliness, O, son of Pritha, it does not become you.’ This is the famous Baghavad Gita. I have been re-reading it during the ceasefire. What else is there to do? [He sits down.] Krishna says a man’s fate is determined by his talents. If one is gifted at a certain thing, that is one’s path. That is how our fates are decided. [Beat.] We both know that this ceasefire is about to end. It is time to continue our fates. The Chinese will continue to give their satellite data to the government, the Ukranians will continue to give their tanks to both sides, the Americans will sell cluster bombs to fit in the Italian planes and then my friend, then my client will continue to buy from the Italians, and the Italians must continue to sell. That is our particular path. What will be the whole, manifold outcome? No-one can say. It is all maya anyway, my Italian friend. Illusion. A cosmic game. We each do our little bit. The rest is not up to us. [Beat.] Of course, a certain price is put on all this uncertainty. That price will cost my client and it will profit you and I. This is understood. [Listening.] Three percent. [Listening.] Yes. [Listening.] My client will agree to that. [Listening.] Yes.
He continues to listen as Thirru enters.
No no no, I may be a Tamil but remember my friend I am from India. Not Sri Lanka. I am separated from all that business my friend. Cleeeeeanly separated. At a certain point I will leave the discussion. My client has an agent who will take delivery.
Thirru: That’s not your chair.
OLD Nihinsa sees Thirru. She walks towards him.
SUNIL: [phone] My apologies— would you hold for a moment? Nihinsa? යන්න … බලන්න … අර හිඟන මිනිහා. (Go to that beggar, will you?)
OLD NIHINSA: Thirru?
Thirru turns to OLD nihinsa and nods. OLD Nihinsa faints.
Thirru: Nihinsa!
He goes to her. He speaks in Sinhala to OLD nihinsa—the lines are not translated into English.
Overlapping:
Nihinsa …
OLD NIHINSA: / [recovering, touching his face] තිරූ … ඇත්තටම ඔයා ද? (Thirru? Is that you?)
SUNIL: / [phone] My deepest apologies my Italian friend but I must attend to a rather odd man on my po
rch.
Thirru: / ඔව්. මම තමා. මොකද මේ? කෝ රාධා? (Yes. It’s me. What’s going on? Where is everyone?) Who is that man?
SUNIL: / [phone] Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. I will call again in half an hour.
Sunil hangs up.
මොනවද? මොනවද දෙන්නා කතා කරන්නෙ? (What are you two talking about?) Who do you think you are, මගේ ගේ ඇතුළට එන්ඩ? (barging into my house?)
OLD Nihinsa watches discreetly.
Thirru: [turning to sunil] What happened to my wife and son?
SUNIL: I don’t bloody know. Who are you? You speak English?
Thirru: I do. What happened to my wife and son?
SUNIL: You are wasting my time. Get out of here, you dog—
Thirru: My name is Thirru. My wife is Radha. And this is our home.
SUNIL: [pause] Thirru? You’re dead. Radha told me you were dead—
THIRRU: When did she tell you that?
Thirru takes sunil by the shoulders.
SUNIL: / Calm down.
THIRRU: / Where is my wife? Where is my son? What happened to my family?
SUNIL: / Calm down. Sssh. Listen … Listen. Listen.
Counting and Cracking Page 5
