by Anosh Irani
A blinding flash of light on stage.
. . . like a rod of lightning had pierced my eyes, as though my pupils had committed some horrible crime and needed to be punished. And then it was I who was screaming for my mother. I should have run into the flames, Apsara. I’m sorry that I ran the other way, into the crowd. Into that dumb, sweaty, brain-fucked crowd.
Pause.
So let me ask you now: Do you know who I am?
She is nervous. She gets up.
He senses this.
Don’t try to leave.
He moves towards her.
You took my sight. Now I want it back.
She tries to move away from him, but he senses where she is.
He is like a predator now, waiting to pounce on her.
She is extremely still, aware that he can sense the slightest movement.
Your touch made me blind all those years ago. If I touch you again, I will see. That’s why I’m here. I want you to hold my hand, Apsara. Give me my sight back.
He extends his arm to her.
She does not take it.
Don’t make me force you.
She makes a run for it.
He grabs her.
apsara: I don’t remember any of this. I swear.
kamal: There’s only one thing you need to remember. My name is Kamal. I, my dear, am your husband.
Seven
apsara is seated, clearly disturbed by what has just transpired.
padma enters.
padma: What did he want? What did you find out about the blind man?
apsara: When was the first time I dreamt about the fire?
padma: How does it matter?
apsara: Just tell me.
padma: You must have been four or five.
apsara: Are you sure?
padma: I remember it clearly. You came crying to me in the middle of the night. You said that you dreamt you were around a fire and there was smoke in your eyes.
apsara: Then what happened?
padma: Nothing. I held you in my arms and put you back to sleep.
apsara: Is that all you did?
padma: I whispered in your ear, “It’s only a dream. Go to sleep. It’s only a dream.”
apsara: Who is Kamal?
No response from padma.
Tell me about Kamal.
padma: I don’t know any Kamal. What’s wrong with you?
apsara: I’m terrified, Mother.
padma: Of what?
apsara: My husband.
padma: What? But there is no . . .
padma reaches to comfort apsara.
apsara recoils the moment padma touches her.
Eight
Later. The same night.
There is a knock on the door.
The knocking continues.
apsara slowly finds her way to the door in the darkness. But she does not open it.
kamal: Apsara, it’s Kamal. Open the door.
Pause.
I want to know if you’re okay. Let me in.
apsara: I want you to leave.
kamal: If that’s what you want, then I will walk away this instant. But understand that every single day I live in one colour—black. A colour you are responsible for. I’ve had to learn everything all over again. How to walk. How many steps to take to go to the toilet. Each and every sound haunts me. To this day, I feel there are snakes at my feet. In the village, on my way to school, the children would shout, “Snake, snake,” and I’d freeze in terror, until I heard their laughter.
apsara: What do you want from me? Are you here for revenge?
She opens the door.
kamal: No. I don’t want revenge.
apsara: Then why are you here?
He enters.
kamal: Love. A mad love. A love so strong we could uproot trees with it.
She walks away from him and sits on the swing.
apsara: I don’t love you.
kamal: Not now, maybe. But in a day or two, who knows? In a day or two we could be lovers. You are an Apsara. And I am a lotus. We are bound together.
apsara: What are you talking about?
kamal: The name Kamal means lotus.
apsara: I know that.
kamal: The very first Apsara lived in a lake with a single lotus. The two were inseparable.
apsara: I am not a celestial nymph in heaven. And you are not a flower. We are in Bombay and there’s shit on the road and it costs only a few hundred rupees to have someone murdered.
kamal: That might be true, but let us not forget what the name means. “The Good Bay.” That’s what the Portuguese called this city. So good things can happen here too, if you believe. Let us believe that I am indeed a lotus. The only time the lotus withered was when the Apsara left the lake on a mission.
apsara: And what mission would that be?
kamal: Do you not know the story of the first Apsara?
apsara: I don’t like stories.
kamal: Centuries ago, when heaven existed, it had many gods. There was Brahma the Creator, Shiva the Destroyer, Krishna the Lover . . .
apsara: Were there no goddesses?
kamal: Not yet. So at the end of the day, when these male gods were done creating mountains, rivers, and gardens, when they were done designing planets and answering people’s prayers, they sat in heaven’s court and someone suggested, “How about some dance?” All the gods loved the suggestion, so they created this beautiful woman. The world’s first Apsara. She danced for them and all the gods were mesmerized.
apsara: They became like vegetables. Each and every god wanted Apsara to himself.
kamal: So you do know the story.
apsara: No, but I know men.
kamal: The gods started using their powers against each other. Shiva released cobras from his matted hair and choked Brahma’s throat. Krishna transformed his flute into a spear and hurled it at Shiva. Suddenly the gods realized what they were doing.
apsara: Fighting over a woman. A mere dancer. The shame of it.
kamal: They were so enraged that they banished Apsara to a lake. The lake contained a single lotus. The Apsara and the lotus fell in love. But that love was not enough. The Apsara left the lake to seek revenge on the gods. The moment she left, the lotus started to wither.
apsara: Did she get her revenge?
kamal: She secretly went to each god and professed her love. She danced for the god, sucked up all his energy, and killed him. Until there were no gods left.
apsara: So what’s the moral?
kamal: I find questions more interesting than morals.
apsara: What’s the question?
kamal: On whom does this Apsara want to take revenge?
apsara: No one. Mythology is the poor man’s diet.
kamal: The rich can afford to be realistic.
Pause.
A lotus cannot survive without an Apsara. That’s why I’m here. I need you so that I may live. Come with me, my Apsara.
apsara: I’m not going anywhere.
kamal: Can you hear that?
apsara: Hear what?
kamal: The spinning of wheels. It’s a horse carriage. All the lovers of Bombay go for rides on them.
apsara: I don’t like lovers.
kamal: Listen.
apsara: I can’t hear a thing.
kamal: The blind pluck things out of thin air. That’s how we live. Darkness is a blank slate. Draw what you want on it. Listen. Listen to that carriage.
The sound of the carriage.
Hear its wheels spinning, grinding against the uneven road. It’s coming closer. Now smell the beedi that the old man smokes as he rides his carriage. There is also the fragrance of flowers that are on the floor of the carri
age. Take it all in. Now feel the horses. Touch the sweat on their backs. See their skin shining under the street lights. Can you see them? They’re black. The horses are pure black. Smell them. Smell the shit they leave on the road below. Don’t be afraid to smell the shit. The carriage is very close. Are you ready? We’ll jump on the count of three.
The sound of the carriage gets louder.
One, two, three.
He sits on the swing. It becomes the carriage.
Sorry, excuse us. The old man looks a bit concerned. Ignore him. Look at the Gateway of India instead.
apsara is silent.
Describe it to me.
apsara: It’s brownish yellow. It has four turrets and a central dome.
kamal: What else? Describe the scene to me.
apsara is silent.
What do you see?
apsara: Photographers.
kamal: Photographers?
apsara: Yes, amateur photographers who take photos of the tourists beside the gateway for a few rupees.
kamal: What else?
apsara: There’s a chaiwala with a small kerosene stove selling tea in paper cups. There are stray dogs playing, there are workers asleep on the ground, and there’s a security guard keeping people away from the gateway.
kamal: Now we’re standing right under the dome. I can feel the heat of lights all over my body. Do you notice anything unusual about the gateway?
apsara: No, nothing unusual.
kamal: The Gateway of India is now moving off the ground and sliding into the water. Quietly. Like a stranger sneaking into someone else’s pool. It’s floating on water, Apsara, and no one’s on it but us. We will let it take us far out to sea. Now everyone from the Taj Mahal Hotel behind us is looking in astonishment. All those foreigners who stay at the Taj are calling their loved ones in London, New York, and Paris, “Bombay is demented. Buildings float on water.” And their relatives abroad are replying, “Stop smoking that Bombay Black! It’s all that Bombay Black!”
Pause.
We must be careful we don’t collide into any ships. We just passed the Vikrant. Now we’re approaching the Sea Princess. Now we’re past the huge ships. We’re so deep into the Arabian Sea even the fish don’t wander here. So here we are, you and I, not a soul around, only the sound of the waves and the whisper of the wind to keep us company. Let’s talk.
They stand in the middle of the Arabian Sea.
They listen to the wind and the waves.
apsara: It’s not possible. It’s just not possible.
kamal: What?
apsara: That one person can blind another by mere touch.
kamal: The universe is a complete bastard.
They sit in silence in the middle of the Arabian Sea.
So tell me, is it just you and your mother? Or does someone else live with you?
apsara: Just us.
kamal: What about your father?
apsara: We don’t know where he is.
kamal: How long has it been since you saw him?
apsara: Ten years. Why are you asking me about my father?
kamal: Because he’s dying.
apsara: What?
kamal: Your father doesn’t have much time left.
apsara: You know him?
kamal: He was the priest at our wedding. In order to find you, I had to start with him. I promised him that if I ever found you, I’d tell him. He wants to see you.
Silence.
He’s dying. He wants to see you before he dies.
apsara: What illness does he have?
kamal: He hasn’t been to a doctor. He doesn’t believe in them.
apsara: Does he know where we are?
kamal: I haven’t told him.
apsara: Are you sure?
kamal: Yes, I’m sure. Why don’t you want him to know?
apsara: Where is he? The last we heard he had left the village.
kamal: He’s in Bombay. Do you want to see him?
apsara: No.
Pause.
No.
kamal: But the man’s dying.
apsara: Look—what the hell do you want from me?
kamal: I don’t believe my sight has been lost forever. I think it’s been banished to make way for something greater.
apsara: Like what?
kamal: I don’t know. All I know is that there’s all this water around us. We’re in the middle of the Arabian Sea. Step into the water with me. An Apsara belongs in the water with the lotus.
He steps into the water.
She does not. He senses this.
I don’t know how this is going to turn out. Come with me. Right now, all I have to offer is the water.
Nine
apsara is alone in the room.
She is packing her suitcase.
padma enters.
padma: What are you doing?
apsara doesn’t answer.
Apsara, what are you doing?
apsara: You need to pack. Pack your things.
padma: What for?
apsara: We must leave. We must leave Bombay. We must leave before he finds us.
padma: Who?
apsara: My father. Kamal met my father.
padma stands still.
padma: Are you sure?
apsara: In order to find me Kamal started with him.
padma: He’s alive . . . the bastard’s alive . . .
apsara: He’s dying.
padma: Of what?
apsara: I don’t know. Kamal said he’s very sick.
Pause.
My father wants to see me. We must leave at once.
padma: He wants to see you.
apsara: We must move to another city.
padma: We can’t keep running from him.
apsara: We have to.
padma: What if you were to see him again?
apsara: I can’t.
padma: But suppose you have to.
apsara: Why would I have to?
padma: Let him find us.
apsara: What?
padma: It might be your purpose.
apsara: My purpose? What the hell are you talking about?
padma: Let me rephrase it. What if it’s your function—leading your father here. To me.
apsara: To you?
padma: You know, when you use a piece of meat.
Pause.
There was this hunter once. And he was tired and hungry and wounded. A hyena had wounded him and now he was alone in the forest . . . tired and hungry . . . and if he did not eat, he’d die . . . so he cut off a piece of his own flesh, from his thigh, and left it on the ground and hid. The hyena came for that flesh and it was too distracted to see the hunter . . . and so the hunter got his chance—he killed the hyena.
apsara: What are you saying?
padma: I’m saying that I’m tired and hungry . . . and . . .
apsara moves away.
apsara: You’re out of your mind.
padma: And it’s a beautiful, magical feeling.
apsara: But what about me?
padma: What about you?
apsara: I never want to see him again. You promised.
padma: You’ll have to.
padma caresses apsara.
Apsara, in order to survive, I will sacrifice my own flesh.
apsara walks away from her.
Where are you going? I need you more than ever, my dear.
apsara: What is wrong with you?
padma: Nothing. I’m finally telling you the truth.
apsara: I’m leaving.
padma: Oh really? Here, let me help you.
She opens the door for apsara.
apsara walks towards t
he door. Then stops. She is unable to leave.
You can’t even go out for a walk by yourself. You’re terrified of being on your own. You need me, Apsara. You can’t survive in this world on your own. You need me. Just as I need you.
padma moves towards apsara.
There was a hunter.
She moves closer.
There was a hyena.
padma pushes apsara. apsara falls to the floor.
There was a piece of flesh.
End of Act One.
ACT TWO
One
apsara and padma on stage.
apsara: Why didn’t you tell me I was married to Kamal?
padma: What good would it have done?
apsara: Whose idea was it?
padma: Idea? It’s been going on for hundreds of years. To protect the girl child from being raped by sultans and warlords and whatnot, parents married off their infants when they were in their cradles. So don’t worry—historically, you were well past the marriageable age. Kamal’s family asked for you because your father was the most respected priest in the village. And Kamal’s family owned land. The alliance made sense.
apsara: Made sense? I was three.
padma: We had found a good match. There were two baby girls in the village who were drowned in tubs of milk simply because they were girls. But we kept you. So be grateful.
apsara: What exactly happened that day?
padma: The moment Kamal touched you he went blind.
apsara: How?
padma: Who knows? Perhaps it’s nature’s way of proving that it’s more powerful than man. You were doomed right from the start, Apsara. A boy went blind the moment he touched you. The villagers wanted your blood. They started shouting that you were cursed, that you were a dangerous child. So your father announced there and then that if you were to devote your life to the temple as a dancer, it would appease the gods and it would prevent anyone else from getting hurt. That was the only way to calm the villagers down, those hungry, bloodsucking fools.
