by Anosh Irani
kamal: A mirror is the last thing we should look at ourselves in. A reflection is a likeness of the self. It means we only see the things about ourselves that we like. We must use our hands. The lines on your hands correspond to the lines on your face. When you move your hands against your face, the lines fit in. The parts that don’t are the parts that are wrong with you. Why is it that whenever we are in grief or shock, we put our face in our hands? Because new lines have appeared and we are trying to make sense of them. But the lines that fit will lead you to what’s good for you. Trust me. Hold your face in your hands.
Slowly, she does.
Now glide your palms across your face. Very slowly. Your hands will fit in. As though the lines are grooves.
She tries but nothing happens.
apsara: I don’t feel anything.
kamal: You’re going too fast. Think of your face as a vault. And you have to listen to the clicks to get the combination.
She does. Her hand clicks in.
Do you feel anything?
apsara: Yes.
kamal: Now pick a line on your face. Pick a line that fits really well into your hand. Can you find one?
apsara: Yes.
kamal: Now pull it, gently, like you are pulling an eyelash that just keeps on getting longer and longer. Follow it. Let it lead you.
apsara: I’m moving very fast. As though my brain is travelling at great speed along a thin railway track.
kamal: Follow it to the end of the line.
apsara: I’ve stopped.
kamal: Where are you?
apsara: I’m by a lake. It’s very sunny. I know this place. I used to sit there alone when I was little. My mother used to meet me there. She used to bring me food because I was never allowed into the village. I used to sit there and imagine myself dancing on the water’s surface. It’s been ten years since I last saw the lake. I’m moving again. Slower this time. There’s a row of coconut trees and a well.
kamal: Look around you.
apsara: There’s a small group of thatched houses. An old man is selling bananas from his small shop. The bananas hang like yellow garlands in front of him.
kamal: What else?
apsara: I’m walking with my father. We stop outside the banana shop and I buy bananas from the old man. That’s me; I’m three years old. I see a young boy appear from behind the banana shop. He’s looking at me . . . but I don’t know who he is. He’s looking at me very closely.
kamal: Is he dressed in blue?
apsara: Yes. How did you know that?
kamal: That boy is me. That was the first time I saw you. I was taking a look at my future bride.
apsara: You’re crying.
kamal: I was scared. I was ten years old and all I knew was kite-flying. All I knew was how to run in the rain, and when the rain got too heavy, I would use a large banana leaf to shield myself. My whole body fit under a banana leaf—that’s how small I was, and I was being forced to get married. I kept looking at you and wondered what it all meant. But then I saw that you were tinier than I was.
Pause.
Take a good look at that girl. Is that a girl who can kill?
Pause.
Is that a girl who can kill?
apsara: I’m no longer that girl.
kamal: Come with me. We can start a new life. Darkness is a blank slate. Draw what you want on it.
apsara: I want to draw blood.
Pause.
kamal: Then I shall deliver your father to you. But before I go, I need to know something. Do I frighten you?
apsara: All men frighten me.
kamal: What I mean is: Are you afraid that I might be good for you?
She does not answer.
That’s all I needed to know.
He leaves.
Five
apsara is sitting on the swing.
padma: You will tell him I am dead. I died three years ago. Tell him I killed myself. That I ate rat poison. Yes, tell him that. For a while, I’ll hide and watch. I’ll listen to him whisper into your ear. I’ve never seen him do it. I want to see what it’s like. When fathers and daughters are lovers, how do they speak to each other? I want to feel the electricity in the air. I want to taste the poison in the room. Then, once I’ve had my fill . . .
She produces a butcher knife.
. . . I will plunge this knife into his stomach. Let the knife remain there for a while. I’ll watch him convulse. I’ll look into his eyes, I’ll comfort him. I’ll place his head in my lap. Let him die in his wife’s lap like a bleeding vegetable, as every husband should.
She places the knife in apsara’s hands.
Feel that. Feel its thickness. It’s length.
apsara: Where did you get this?
padma: I told you the butcher was a friend of mine. Feel that blade. It’s enough to make you believe in love again.
apsara: What if Kamal doesn’t come?
padma: That’s not an option.
padma takes the knife back.
apsara: But it’s been three days since he left.
padma: He’ll be here.
apsara: But let’s just say that he doesn’t show up.
padma: The eagles will be devastated.
apsara: The eagles?
padma: Why do you think I’ve been feeding them meat all these years? I’m going to cut your father up into little pieces and feed him to the eagles. In this city, the undertaker comes flying right to your window and you don’t even need a coffin. Isn’t Bombay beautiful?
Pause.
I envy you, Apsara. You’re a lucky girl. Your rage can be channelled to your father because of something that was done to you. My rage is empty. I’m angry about what he did to someone else.
apsara: It’s not my fault, Mother. It never was.
padma: I don’t know. At times, I feel you’re right. I want to wake up just one morning, just one single morning, and feel no rage. I want to look at the sea and feel like I belong to it. That it moves for me, at least one small ripple exists for me. But how can I be at peace when I don’t know whom to blame?
apsara: It burns you, doesn’t it? You can’t understand why I don’t want my father dead.
padma: What I love about you, dear child, is that you cannot decide who you want dead more. Me or him.
apsara: What did you tell him?
padma: Who?
apsara: Kamal. What did you say to change his mind?
padma: Nothing.
apsara: I want to know.
padma: It might change the way you feel about him.
apsara: I don’t feel anything for him.
padma: Then why do you need to know?
apsara: Tell me what you said.
padma: Money. If he brings your father to me, he gets lots of money.
apsara: I don’t believe you.
padma: He’s a poor bookseller. Money is more useful to him than a wife.
apsara: Kamal doesn’t think that way.
padma: You’re right. Forget about it. Perhaps I made the whole thing up. You’re right. Kamal’s not like that at all. But this blade is getting cold. It needs warm flesh. I want your father, Apsara. If I don’t get your father . . . I hope you haven’t hatched a little plan with Kamal. I don’t like being double-crossed.
apsara: He’ll be here.
padma: And how can you be sure? Perhaps he will knock on the door this very moment? Hah?
There is a knock on the door.
They both acknowledge the absurdity of the knock.
A knock again.
apsara: That’s him.
padma: (to eagles) The feast is about to begin.
She exits.
kamal enters.
He is alone.
He holds an ea
rthen pot in his hands.
kamal: Apsara? I’ve come alone.
apsara: You’re not alone. He’s here.
kamal: I’ve come alone.
apsara: But the scent of him is so strong.
kamal: I’ve brought his ashes. Your father passed away two days ago.
apsara is unable to move. She just stands still.
Apsara?
padma enters.
padma: What is it? Why are you holding that pot?
(to apsara) Why is he holding a pot?
kamal: It’s not a pot. It’s an urn.
padma: Why are you holding an urn?
kamal: I went back to get him. He got up from his bed with great difficulty. I helped him get dressed. We started walking towards the door to come here when he collapsed in my arms. After a few minutes he stopped breathing.
padma: No.
kamal: I had him cremated that very night.
padma: But . . . you promised to bring him here. You promised. Why did you cremate him? We could have done something with the body. Why didn’t you bring his body here? You’re lying to me.
kamal: I’m not lying.
He places the urn on the ground.
This is your husband.
padma slowly moves towards it.
She looks into the urn.
She does not touch it.
padma: That’s not him.
kamal: It’s him.
padma: You couldn’t go through with it. I knew it.
kamal reaches into his pocket and takes out an amulet.
kamal: Perhaps you will recognize this. His amulet.
He hands it to padma.
He exits.
padma: He never took this off. Even when he had a bath . . . he never took this off . . .
padma looks at the ashes again.
She sits cross-legged on the ground, the urn in front of her.
But he had a lizard’s back. Very smooth. And his lips were quite thin, almost like a woman’s. And his breath . . . it was full of country liquor . . .
She smells the ashes.
This doesn’t smell like him . . .
She kneels and finally puts her hand in.
He used to sweat a lot. This is dry, so dry . . .
She picks up some ash.
Is this what your skin felt like when you were old? Is this . . . is this you . . . tell me if it’s you . . . come on . . . touch me . . . say something . . . please touch me . . . here . . .
She rubs the ash on her arms, slowly.
Feel me . . . please . . .
She slowly starts smearing the ashes all over her face.
Is this you? Feel me, please . . . touch me. Is this you . . . tell me this is you . . .
Six
padma and apsara are seated.
padma still has ash all over her.
padma: Years and years of treachery in a pot. That’s love. A woman can love a man. But a man cannot love back. When a man says, “I love you,” he means, “I will cause you so much pain that your heart will eat itself.” You give a man all you have. At the end of the day he will scorn you because he has cunt hair stuck between his teeth.
Pause.
I don’t think you should see Kamal anymore.
apsara: Why not?
padma: Because you care about him.
apsara: I don’t.
padma: No matter where you look, you will see your father. When you kiss Kamal, you will taste your father’s tongue. His hands will be your father’s. His voice will turn into your father’s. I don’t think you should see Kamal anymore.
apsara: I feel responsible for what’s happened to him.
padma: But it’s impossible for him to love you.
apsara: And why is that?
padma: Because you’re not a woman. You’re a piece of meat shaped by your father. At a time when most children were singing songs, playing in the village fields, you were turning rotten. You have nothing to offer.
apsara: You’re scared, aren’t you?
padma: Of what?
apsara: You’re scared that I may leave this place. Leave you.
padma: Why would I be scared?
apsara: Because now that father’s dead, you have nothing to live for. But you’ll still live long—very long—but it will be a life without revenge, without a daughter upon whom you can unload your spleen. You’re scared, Mother; I know it.
padma: I’m not scared. You’ve never meant anything to me.
apsara: Then hold me. Hold me, Mother.
padma does not respond. So apsara holds padma. padma moves away.
Why can’t you hold your own child?
padma: Because you remind me of your father.
apsara: No. I remind you that I am yours. You love me.
padma: I don’t.
apsara: Then prove it. Hold me close. You shouldn’t feel a thing.
padma reluctantly holds apsara.
You’re trembling, Mother.
padma is unable to speak.
I forgive you. I forgive you, Mother.
padma cannot go on. She tries to break away. apsara holds on and does not let go.
Finally, she stands. padma is still seated.
She looks down at padma.
I forgive you.
Seven
apsara is seated on the swing.
kamal enters.
kamal: I’ve come to say goodbye.
apsara: I see.
kamal: I think you should say goodbye too.
apsara: Goodbye.
kamal: Not to me. Say goodbye to this place. To your mother.
She does not answer.
We can help each other. Make each other happy.
The shadow of padma looms in the background.
apsara: You should leave.
kamal: I’m not leaving without you.
apsara: I can still feel my father’s ashes lingering in the air. They’re falling against my face. Maybe he’ll never leave. I want you to leave, Kamal.
kamal: In the past, when you saw a man—his face, his eyes, his hair, his chest—you saw your father. And it repulsed you, it made you angry. Every man looked the same through your eyes. But with me you have found a man who is not your father. I know you care about me.
apsara: But can I trust you?
kamal: For that you’ll have to close your eyes. And look through the eyes of the blind. Take my face in your hands. If the lines fit, I’m good for you. Look at me. That’s all I ask.
He holds her hands. Puts them to his face. Then lets go.
Do the lines fit, Apsara? Tell me the lines fit . . .
apsara: The Apsara chooses revenge.
kamal: No . . .
apsara: But this time, she will need the lotus’s help.
kamal: I don’t understand . . .
apsara: The lines fit, Kamal . . . the lines fit. My revenge is to leave this place.
padma’s shadow disappears.
Are you ready to leave?
kamal: Yes.
She holds kamal’s hand.
She whistles loudly.
A horse carriage gallops at tremendous speed.
apsara: On the count of three. One, two, three!
They jump.
There is a strong wind against their faces as the carriage races.
The sound of the wind and the carriage is very strong.
kamal speaks above it, jubilant.
kamal: So you do trust me.
apsara: I might learn to.
kamal: There’s one more thing we need to do.
apsara: What’s that?
kamal: We need to fall in love.
The carriage rocks heavily
as it gathers even more speed.
apsara: It might take a few years. A few hundred, perhaps.
kamal: On land, yes. Everyone knows it’s impossible to fall in love on land. Ask this old man. Even he will agree. Old man, can a man and woman fall in love on land? See? Even he turns his head to the sky and laughs.
apsara: So what do you propose?
kamal: An Apsara and a lotus belong in the water. That’s where we first met thousands of years ago. To fall in love, we must fall into the sea. Are you in the mood to do something dangerous?
apsara: Yes!
kamal: Old man, I want you to take this carriage and dive into the sea. Oh come on, old man, help us. Throw away that cigarette and do something daring. We’re about to fall in love. Shower some flowers on us, old man! Lovers need flowers! I demand some flowers!
The horses rear up.
The carriage races at incredible speed.
A burst of flowers from the sky. They revel in the shower of flowers.
Take those horses over the seawall! Make us fly, old man! Make us fly!
The carriage jumps over the seawall.
Silence. They are in the air, high up in the air. Only the sound of the wind.
We’re in the sky now, Apsara. We’re so high we could pluck the moon and shove it up your mother’s arse. This is wonderful. The whole of Bombay will see us tonight. People in the Taj Mahal Hotel will call up London, Paris, and New York and say, “I see flying horses. The whole of Bombay has gone mad.”
apsara: What will we do, Kamal?
kamal: Can I take a look at you?
kamal gently touches her face.
apsara: A woman blinds a man by mere touch. And then they want to fall in love. How can such a thing be possible?
kamal: I don’t know.
The sound of birds flying.
apsara: Perhaps they know.
kamal: Who?
apsara: The birds. Perhaps the birds might know how such a thing can happen.
kamal: The birds don’t know.
apsara: What makes you say that?
kamal: They’re in the air all the time.
apsara: The fish. The fish must know.
kamal: The fish think water is air, and its surface, sky.
apsara: The trees, then. It is said that trees are wise.
kamal: Trees know a lot. But have travelled so little.
apsara: What about the wind?
