by Rajiv Joseph
PRAISE FOR THE PLAYS OF RAJIV JOSEPH
GRUESOME PLAYGROUND INJURIES
“Gruesome Playground Injuries finds a fresh way of expressing human vulnerability, and two individuals’ struggle to understand their need for each other. Joseph takes risks . . . that pay off emotionally.”
—EVERETT EVANS, HOUSTON CHRONICLE
“Make[s] us feel life’s brevity and fragility . . . there’s something paradoxically life-affirming about the sensitivity with which playwright and players perform this haunting ode to self-destruction.”
—CHRIS KLIMEK, WASHINGTON CITY PAPER
“A provocative dark comedy.”
—OLIVIA FLOREZ ALVAREZ, HOUSTON PRESS
“Layered with quirky humor and poignant intensity—a crash course in growing up, getting hurt, and the healing power of love.”
—GWENDOLYN PURDOM, WASHINGTONIAN
ANIMALS OUT OF PAPER
“Joseph’s observant, pitch-perfect script seems modest at first but is really quite ambitious, dealing ruthlessly . . . with the fragility of happiness, the tragedy of impulsiveness and the tenuousness of hope.”
—ANITA GATES, NEW YORK TIMES
“Terrific . . . Joseph’s carefully modulated play slowly reveals darker edges to these characters.”
—JASON CLARK, ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY
“[Joseph] begins with a quirky comedy about origami experts and deftly transforms it into a melancholy reminder that close friends make the worst messes. His journey from one extreme to the other . . . is surprising and specific, pulling honest insights out of unusual situations.”
—MARK BLANKENSHIP, VARIETY
“Rajiv Joseph is one of the most refreshing new playwrights I’ve ever encountered . . . Animals Out of Paper is one of the most satisfying new works I’ve seen all year. Joseph is a fascinating voice in the world of theatre. He’s crafted a substantial play, funny and sad, down-to-earth and unpretentious, with a great deal of meaning . . . Joseph’s play is refreshingly genuine, and he’s a playwright to look out for.”
—DAVID GORDON, NYTHEATRE.COM
BENGAL TIGER AT THE BAGHDAD ZOO
“No ordinary play. I’m tempted to call it the most original drama written so far about the Iraq war, but why sell the work short? The imagination behind it is way too thrillingly genre-busting to be confined within such a limiting category . . . Bengal Tiger marks the breakthrough of a major new playwriting talent.”
—CHARLES MCNULTY, LOS ANGELES TIMES
“The writing is beautiful . . . the pacing is taut and thrilling.”
—LAURENCE VITTES, HOLLYWOOD REPORTER
“Quite magnificent.”
—STEVEN LEIGH MORRIS, LA WEEKLY
“Though set amid the throes of the U.S. incursion, it’s less an Iraq War play than a heavily metaphorical musing on life’s purpose in a godless universe.”
—BOB VERINI, VARIETY
ebook ISBN 9781619028555
Copyright © 2017 by Rajiv Joseph
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication is available.
Cover illustration by AKA
Interior design by Megan Jones Design
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CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that all materials in this book, being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, the British Empire including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of the Copyright Union, are subject to royalty. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved. The stock and amateur performance rights in the English language throughout the United States, and its territories and possessions, Canada, and the Open Market are controlled by The Gersh Agency, 41 Madison Avenue, 33rd Floor, New York, NY 10010, Attn: Seth Glewen. No professional or nonprofessional performances of the plays may be given without obtaining in advance the written permission of The Gersh Agency and paying the requisite fee. Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to The Gersh Agency.
This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents’ parents:
William and Dorothy Gauchat
P.L. and Constance Lily Joseph
CONTENTS
GUARDS AT THE TAJ
PRODUCTION HISTORY
CHARACTERS
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
SCENE 3
SCENE 4
SCENE 5
MR. WOLF
PRODUCTION HISTORY
ACT 1
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
SCENE 3
SCENE 4
ACT 2
SCENE 5
SCENE 6
SCENE 7
SCENE 8
SCENE 9
SCENE 10
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
GUARDS AT THE TAJ
PRODUCTION HISTORY
The world premiere of GUARDS AT THE TAJ was produced by Atlantic Theater Company, in New York City, opening June 11, 2015. It was directed by Amy Morton; the set design was by Timothy R. Mackabee; the lighting design was by David Weiner; the sound design was by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen; the costume design was by Bobby Frederick Tilley II; and the production stage manager was Cambra Overend. The cast was as follows:
HUMAYUN
Omar Metwally
BABUR
Arian Moayed
CHARACTERS
HUMAYUN
BABUR
TIME
1648
PLACE
Agra, India
NOTE: Actors should not use a dialect.
SCENE 1.
Agra, India. 1648. Night. Humayun, a young Imperial Guard, stands watch.
Brilliant stars dot the sky, but there is no moon. Crickets chirp. The distant call of a crazed bird. Otherwise silence.
Another guard, Babur, hurriedly enters, very much disheveled, late to his post.
He awkwardly sets up in guard position a few feet away from Humayun, trying to get properly dressed. Humayun doesn’t move— but he’s clearly irritated by Babur.
Finally Babur is set. He stands at attention like Humayun.
HUMAYUN: Wrong hand.
Babur switches his sword to the proper hand, holding the blade perfectly upright, against his body.
A long beat. They stand guard. Crickets. The same crazy bird calls out. Aaarixah!
BABUR: (imitates) Aaarixah!
HUMAYUN: Shhhh!
BABUR: Which one is that?
HUMAYUN: Shhhh!
Crazed bird again. Aaarixah!
BABUR: I don’t know them like you know them. The birds. Which bird is that one? Chickadee? Sandgrouse? Thick-knee?
HUMAYUN: Shut up!
BABUR: You always know the birds, I don’t know any birds or—
HUMAYUN: Would you be quiet!?
BABUR: I’m just saying .
. .
HUMAYUN: “Imperial Guards of the Great Walled City of Agra, Sworn to the Eternal Dominion of His Most Supreme Benevolence Emperor Shah Jahan . . . Do Not Speak.”
BABUR: You just spoke.
HUMAYUN: “Among the Sacred Oaths of the Mughal Imperial Guard is to Never Speak.”
BABUR: You keep talking about not talking.
HUMAYUN: “In silence, we are vigilant.”
BABUR: Swearing an Oath to Not Speak: Contradiction!
HUMAYUN: Babur! Stop! You have to be careful!
BABUR: Okay!
HUMAYUN: I’m serious!
BABUR: Okay.
HUMAYUN: They’ll release us from this Honored Fleet without a second thought! The tiniest of infractions will see us both gone; quick-stuffed to the lowliest gullies of Agra.
BABUR: You won’t tell on me.
HUMAYUN: Well, I won’t lie.
BABUR: Come on! We’re brothers, you and me.
HUMAYUN: We’re not brothers, we’re just friends.
BABUR: That’s insensitive. That makes me sad. I think of you as a brother. As a bhai. You call me bhai. I call you bhai.
HUMAYUN: Don’t make me lose my job.
BABUR: Hah! You?! And who is your father? Only simply the highest of high command in the All-On-High Imperial Guard.
HUMAYAN: My father yearns for my defeat. Always has. You know him.
BABUR: Sons are sons. Fathers are fathers. And one day you’ll be Chief Top Boss Man of the Imperial Guard just like him.
HUMAYUN: That will never happen. He thinks I’m soft. Stop talking. Stand guard.
Beat. Other bird sounds. Then quiet.
BABUR: You know what I wonder about?
HUMAYUN: No. Shut up.
BABUR: I was wondering . . . When will we get to guard the Imperial Harem?
HUMAYUN: Ha.
BABUR: I’m serious, when?
HUMAYUN: Guards of the Imperial Harem are tip-top guards. Seniority. Best position in the fleet. We are not tip-top. We get the Dawn Watch. We’ll both be grey and toothless before they let us guard the Harem.
BABUR: But your father . . . maybe he could . . .
HUMAYUN: That will never happen.
BABUR: Never?
HUMAYUN: Absolutely never.
Beat.
BABUR: Man, I want to see the Harem.
HUMAYUN: It’s supposed to be pretty boring.
BABUR: (skeptical) Really.
HUMAYUN: It’s not so salacious a venue as the gossip would have you think.
BABUR: It’s a Harem.
HUMAYUN: It’s a government department, like any other office. It’s where the emperor does his most confidential work. Thus, only the Mahaldar, the concubines and eunuchs are allowed within the walls . . . and the two most trusted Imperial Guards who are, decidedly, not us.
BABUR: (marveling) But I mean . . . Surrounded by naked women!
HUMAYAN: It’s not like that!
BABUR: Okay.
HUMAYUN: It’s not some depraved house of sluts!
BABUR: Okay.
HUMAYUN: It’s not some hotbed of wanton lust!
BABUR: Okay.
HUMAYUN: It’s just . . . You know . . . A place the emperor goes . . . to work.
(beat; both guys imagine what goes on in the Harem)
(Humayun clears his throat)
Let’s stand guard.
BABUR: Okay.
They stand guard. Babur starts thrusting his pelvis, slowly, but gaining in force and eros.
BABUR: Harem . . . Duty . . . Harem . . . Duty . . .
HUMAYUN: Stop. STOP! Babur, that’s messed up, man, stop it!
Babur stops.
BABUR: I want to see that Harem before I die.
HUMAYUN: Well, you can improve your chances by showing up on time and shutting your seditious mouth.
BABUR: “Seditious?”
HUMAYUN: You heard me.
BABUR: How is that seditious?
HUMAYUN: It just is.
BABUR: I was making a joke.
HUMAYUN: Mild Sedition.
BABUR: Mild? According to who?
HUMAYUN: According to the King! If you had paid attention in training, you would know that sedition is recognized at three levels in accordance with his most supreme and benevolent monarch. You just made a humorous commentary at the expense of the King’s most beloved bureaucratic office. Punishment for Mild Sedition: 40 lashes with a whip and a shaved head.
Yes. And Medium Sedition carries a sentence of blinding. Extreme Sedition: Being sown into the hide of a water buffalo and left in the sun for seven days. And in the case of Treason: Death by Elephant. All of which is to say, Babur, shut up. Imperial Guards Are Not To Speak!
BABUR: Okay!
They stand guard. The crazed bird calls out again, although maybe a little less crazed. Aaarixah . . .
HUMAYUN: Red-breasted jibjab. That’s what it is. The bird.
BABUR: Ah! You’re good, Huma.
HUMAYUN: Now please. Quiet.
Long beat.
BABUR: Huma? Do you ever wonder . . .
HUMAYUN: No.
BABUR: All these celestial luminations that mark our sky . . .
HUMAYUN: What of them?
BABUR: The stars: What are they?
HUMAYUN: Determinations of our fates and futures.
BABUR: But what ARE they?
Are they like fires in the distance? And if so, if you get closer to them, do they become, you know, brighter and hotter? And if so, how far away are they exactly? In the mountains you can determine the closeness of a point, but in the sky, there are no such methods of orientation.
(long beat)
Humayun.
Humayun.
Humayun.
Humayun.
HUMAYUN: WHAT?
BABUR: One day? Thousands of years from now? I bet there will be a sort of palanquin that can soar into the stars like some giant bird.
HUMAYUN: A giant palanquin bird.
BABUR: Yeah.
HUMAYUN: Palanquins are for women.
BABUR: Not this one. This one will be for everyone.
Except, rather than men, or elephants, this will be carried by some unfound-as-of-yet force—up to the stars! And in this palanquin, one might track those little fires in the sky.
HUMAYUN: You and your fantasies.
BABUR: Not fantasies; predictions. And you like them. You’ve always liked them.
HUMAYUN: Fairy tales for children. Not Imperial Guards.
BABUR: And this flying palanquin will be fast. Faster than any horse, or any bird. Tuff-tuff! Tuff-tuff! Fast! You understand, Huma? And, so, tuff-tuff, you will be able to get closer to those fires in the sky.
HUMAYUN: And then?
BABUR: They must be leading us somewhere. If they are determinations of our fates, then they must be arranged by some grand conspirator.
HUMAYUN: Allah.
BABUR: Yeah. Allah.
HUMAYUN: Allahu Akbar.
BABUR: Yeah.
Sure.
But something else, too, right?
HUMAYUN: Blasphemy. Come on, don’t say that.
BABUR: It’s only something I wonder about.
HUMAYUN: It’s not meant for us to know.
BABUR: But maybe it is! If there is something to see, and therefore, something to think about, and therefore something to wonder about . . . then there’s something to go towards.
HUMAYUN: Like a moth to a candle or a tiger to a trap.
BABUR: No.
HUMAYUN: Then what.
BABUR: I think God wants us to learn more and more things.
I mean . . .
Look what is about to be revealed behind us!
HUMAYUN: No. Don’t. Don’t look. Imperial Guards are Not to Move.
BABUR: They say it will be the most beautiful thing in the world.
HUMAYUN: Yes, well, His Supreme Highness has specified that it should be, and so it will be.
BABUR: What do you
think it will look like?
Beat.
HUMAYUN: They say it’s white.
BABUR: Yeah, but just white? Is it skinny? Is it fat? I mean, what shape will it be? All we know are those protective walls that have hidden it these past 16 years.
HUMAYUN: The city within the city.
BABUR: It’s crazy! Sixteen years in the making! Since we were kids, they’ve been building this! And yet we have no idea what it will look like! Because within the walls, where Tajmahal is built: Another city, a secret one, with strange men who have lived a different life than anyone else!
HUMAYUN: His most supreme emperor Shah Jahan decreed that no one shall see it until it is fully completed.
BABUR: But why?
HUMAYUN: There need not be a reason, it is a royal decree! The construction of Tajmahal is not to be seen by anyone except the masons, laborers and slaves who exist within those walls.
BABUR: And the architect.
(with great reverence)
Ustad Isa.
HUMAYUN: (with less reverence) Ustad Isa.
BABUR: Ustad Isa. They say he is the smartest man in the kingdom. In any kingdom. The smartest man on earth.
HUMAYUN: (with disdain) Doubtful.
BABUR: He speaks to the King. He looks the king in the eye. He is equal to the King.
HUMAYUN: That is mild-to-medium sedition.
BABUR: But then he drinks with the masons. And he frequents the whores. He built a school for the peasant children on his day off.
HUMAYUN: I saw it, it was too big.
BABUR: He smiles at everyone! Can you imagine such a thing? Smiling at every person.
The happiest man in the world.
HUMAYUN: The happiest man in the world is also the craziest. Behead that man. Kick his skull to the dogs. Let them play with it, as dogs do.
BABUR: Do you know why he’s the happiest?
HUMAYUN: I just said.
BABUR: Do you remember that thing we made in the trees? 1st year in the army.
HUMAYUN: Our platform.
BABUR: We were three nights in the woods, afraid of tigers.
It was like floating in the branches, high above the jungle! We used our swords to smoothen the wood. Cut it so it fit together. Smooth, clean ledge! Some of the wood was sandalwood. The scent of it cloaked us through the night, protecting us from mosquitoes. Ahhh! The rough perfume of sandalwood!
