SRI AUROBINDO
Collected Plays and Short Stories
Part Two
A room in Almuene's house.
Almuene, Fareed.
You'll give me money, dad?
You spend too much.
We'll talk of it another time. Now leave me.
You'll give me money?
Go; I'm out of temper.
Give money, money, money, give me money.
You boil, do you too grow upon me? There. (strikes him.)
You have struck me!
How much?
Quite half your asking.
Oh yes, I'll send it.
Young Nureddene's evasion
Troubles me at the heart; it will not dislodge.
And Murad too walks closely with the King,
Who whispers to him, whispers, whispers. What?
Is't of my ruin? No, he needs me yet.
And Ibn Sawy's coming soon. But there
I've triumphed. He will have a meagre profit
Of his long work in Roum, — the headsman's axe.
Enter a slave with a cup of water.
Here set it down and wait. 'Tis not so bad.
I'll have their Doonya yet for my Fareed.
Enter Khatoon, dragging in Fareed.
He has not drunk it yet.
Why do you drag me,
You naughty woman? I will bite your fingers.
O imp of Hell! Touch not the water, Vizier.
What's this?
This brat whose soul you've disproportioned
Out of all nature, turns upon you now.
Unnatural mother,
What is this hatred that thou hast, to slander
The issue of thy womb?
She hates me, dad.
Drink off the cup to show her how you love me.
What, art thou weary of thy life? Give rather
The water to a dog and see.
Go, slave,
And make some negro drink it off. (Exit slave). Woman,
What I have promised often, thou shalt have, —
That were indeed my right reward
For saving such a life as thine. Oh, God
Will punish me for it.
Thou tongue! I'll strike thee.
As he lifts his hand the slave returns.
Oh, sir, almost before it touched his throat,
He fell in fierce convulsions. He is dead.
Fareed!
You'll strike me, will you? You'll give half
My askings, no? I wish you'd drunk it off;
I'ld have rare spendings!
God!
Will you not scourge me?
Leave me.
What is this horrible surprise,
Beneath whose shock I stagger? Is my term
Exhausted? But I would have done as much,
Had I been struck. It is his gallant spirit,
His lusty blood that will not bear a blow.
I must appease him. If my own blood should end me!
He shall have money, all that he can ask.
The palace in Bassora.
Alzayni, Murad, Almuene, Ajebe.
I like your nephew well and will advance him.
For what's twixt you and Murad, let it sleep.
You are both my trusty counsellors.
A nothing,
I grieve I pressed; forget it, noble Murad.
That's as you please.
Come, you're my nephew too.
Ho, Mahomed Alzayni, Sultan, Ho!
Who is that Arab?
God! 'tis Nureddene.
Or he is courage-mad.
'Tis he.
The devil and his unholy joy!
Drag him to me! No, bring him quietly,
Ajebe.
I wonder in what strength he comes.
The strength of madness.
Or of Heaven, whose wrath
Sometimes chastises us with our desires.
Greeting, Alzayni, King in Bassora.
Greeting, sweet uncle. Has your nose got straight?
Ajebe and Murad, greeting. Here am I!
How dar'st thou come and with such rude demeanour?
Why, I bring a sentence too,
A fishy writing. Here it is. Be careful of it;
It is my die on which I throw for death
Or more than life.
A letter, and to me?
Great King, 'tis from thy friend the fisherman,
He with the dirty gaberdine who lives
In great Bagdad on stolen fish.
Thinkst thou
That thou canst play thus rudely with the lion?
If I could see the mane, I'ld clutch at it.
A lashing tail is not enough. The tiger
Has that too, and many trifling animals.
Read it, Almuene.
'Tis from the Caliph, it appears. Thus runs
The alleged epistle: “Haroun al Rasheed,
Commander of the Faithful, known by name
To Orient waters and the Atlantic seas,
Whom three wide continents obey, to Mahomed
The Abbasside, the son of Suleyman,
Men call Alzayni, by our gracious will
Allowed our subject king in Bassora,
Greeting and peace. As soon as thou hast read
Our letter, put from thee thy kingly robe,
Thy jewelled turban and thy sceptred pomp
And clothe with them the bearer Nureddene,
Son of thy Vizier, monarch in thy stead
In Bassora, then come to us in Bagdad
To answer for thy many and great offences.
It was the Caliph.
My mighty cousin's will must be obeyed.
To scan it better.
King, 'tis a forgery! Where is the seal,
Where the imperial scripture? Is it thus
On a torn paper mighty Caliphs write?
Now on my life the fellow here has chanced
Upon some playful scribbling of the Caliph's,
Put in his name and thine and, brazen-faced,
Come here to bluster.
It was quite whole, I saw it.
Boy, silence!
No, I will not. Thou hast torn it.
Where are the pieces then? Search, if thou wilt.
Ho, there.
Take Ajebe to the prison hence.
He shall have judgment afterwards.
Com'st thou with brazen face and blustering tongue
And forgeries in thy pocket? Hale him hence.
After fierce tortures let him be impaled.
Hear me, O King.
Thou art his sister's husband.
Yet for thy own sake hear me. Hast thou thought,
If this be true, what fate will stride upon thee
When Haroun learns thy deed? whom doubt not, King,
Thy many enemies will soon acquaint.
Send couriers; find this out.
Till when I'll keep
My nephew safe under my private eye.
Thou art his enemy.
And thou his friend.
He will escape from thee once more.
Vizier,
Thou keep him, use him well.
Ho! take him, guards.
I lose the toss; 'tis tails.
Remain.
Kill him and be at rest.
If 'twere indeed the Caliph's very hand?
Dare not!
Nay, then, put off thy crown at Haroun's bidding,
Who'll make thee his doorkeeper in Bagdad.
The Caliph? How long will this drunken freak
Have lodging in his lordly mind? Or fear'st thou
The half-veiled threat of thy own trusty Turk,
Sultan Alzayni?
The boy ten days; then, if all's well, behead him.
You boggle, boggle; that is not the way
To keep a crown. Have him and hold's the Vizier,
Catch him and cut's the General. Loose your grip?
Let the hand shake? So monarchs are unkinged.
Ten days are mine at least. I have ten days
To torture him, though Caliphs turn his friend.
Will God befriend him next? My enemies
He gives into my potent hand. Murad is gone,
And I hold Doonya in my grip, Ameena too
Who, I have news, lives secret with her niece.
But where's the girl? God keeps her for me, I doubt not,
A last sweet morsel. It will please Fareed.
But there's Haroun! Why should he live at all,
When there are swords and poisons?
A cell in Almuene's house.
Nureddene alone.
We sin our pleasant sins and then refrain
And think that God's deceived. He waits His time
And when we walk the clean and polished road
He trips us with the mire our shoes yet keep,
The pleasant mud we walked before. All ills
I will bear patiently. Oh, better here
Than in that world! Who comes? Khatoon, my aunt!
My Nureddene!
Good aunt, weep not for me.
You are my sister's child, yet more my own.
I have no other. Ali, mend his food
And treatment. Fear not thou the Vizier's wrath,
For I will shield thee.
I'll do it willingly.
What is this sound of many rushing feet?
Seize him and bind. O villain, fatal villain!
O my heart's stringlet! Seize him, beat to powder,
Have burning irons.
Dame, what do you here?
Let no man touch
The prisoner of the Sultan. What's this rage?
My son, my son! He has burned my heart. Shall I
Not burn his body?
Fareed is murdered.
This villain's sister.
Doonya? You are mad. Speak, slave.
Young master went with a great company
To Murad's house to carry Doonya off,
Who then was seated listening to the lute,
With Balkis and Mymoona, Ajebe's slave-girls.
We stormed the house, but could not take the lady;
Mymoona with a sword kept all at bay
For minutes. Meantime the city fills with rumour,
And Murad riding like a stormy wind
Came on us just too soon, the girl defender
Found wounded, Doonya at last in Fareed's grip
Who made a shield of that fair burden; but Balkis
Ran at and tripped him and the savage Turk
Fire-eyed and furious lunged him through the body.
My son!
Will you now give me leave
To torture this vile boy?
What is his fault?
Touch him and I acquaint the King. Vizier,
Thou slew'st Fareed. My gracious, laughing babe,
Who clung about me with his little hands
And sucked my breasts! Him you have murdered, Vizier,
Both soul and body. I will go and pray
For vengeance on thee for my slaughtered child.
She has baulked my fury. No, I'll wait for thee.
Thou shalt hear first what I have done with Doonya
And thy soft mother's body. Murad! Murad!
Thou hast no son. Would God thou hadst a son!
Not upon others fall Thy heavy scourge
Who are not guilty. O Doonya, O my mother,
In fiercest peril from that maddened tyrant!
A house in Bassora.
Doonya, Ameena.
Comfort, dear mother, comfort.
Oh, what comfort?
My Nureddene is doomed, Murad is gaoled,
We in close hiding under the vile doom
This tyrant King decrees.
I did not think
God was so keen-eyed for our petty sins,
When great offences and high criminals
Walk smiling. But there's comfort, mother, yet.
My husband writes from prison. You shall hear.
“Doonya, I have written this by secret contrivance. Have comfort, dry thy mother's tears. There is hope. The Caliph comes to
Bassora and the King will release me for a need of his own. I
have tidings of thy father; he is but two days journey from
Bassora and I have sent him urgent and tremulous word to come,
but no ill-news to break his heart. We have friends. Doonya,
my beloved — ”
Let me hear it.
It is
Pure nonsense, — what a savage Turk would write.
Therefore you kissed it?
Oh, you're comforted!
You're smiling through your tears.
My husband comes.
He will save all. I never quite believed
God would forget his worth so soon.
He comes,
But for what fate? (aloud) True, mother, he'll save all.
How is Mymoona?
In our wild rapid flight. Balkis is with her.
My son will yet be saved.
Bagdad.
A room in the Caliph's harem.
Anice-Aljalice with many slave-girls attending on her.
Girls, is he passing?
He is passing.
Quick, my lute!
The Emperor of Roum is great;
The Caliph has a mighty State;
But One is greater, to Whom all prayers take wing;
And I, a poor and weeping slave,
When the world rises from its grave,
Shall stand up the accuser of my King.
Girls, is he coming up?
The Caliph enters.
Thou art the slave-girl, Anice-Aljalice?
Caliph, for thee.
A king in Bassora.
Who told thee?
So it must be.
Is there news?
No, strange! Seven days gone by nor yet a letter!
Caliph, high sovereign, Haroun al Rasheed,
Men call thee Just, Great Abbasside! I am
A poor and helpless slave-girl, but my grief
Is greater than a King. Lord, I demand
My soul's dear husband at thy hand, who sent him
Alone, unfollowed, without guard or friend
To a tyrant Sultan and more tyrant Vizier,
His potent enemies. Oh, they have killed him!
Give back my husband to my arms unhurt
Or I will rise upon the judgment day
Against thee, Caliph Haroun al Rasheed,
Demanding him at that eternal throne
Where names are not received, nor earthly pomps
Considered. Then my frail and woman's voice
Shall ring more dreadful in thy mighty hearing
Than doom's own trumpet. Answer my demand.
Anice, I do believe thy lord is well.
And yet — No, by my great forefathers, no!
My seal and signature were on the script,
And they are mightier than a thousand armies.
If he has disobeyed, for him 'twere better
He were a beggar's unrespected child
Than Haroun's kin; — the Arabian simoom
Shall be less devastating than my wrath.
Out, Jaafar, out to Bassora, behind thee
Sweeping embattled war; nor night nor tempest
Delay thy march. I follow in thy steps.
Take too this damsel and these fifty slave-girls,
With robes and gifts for Bassora's youthful king.
I give thee power o'er Kings and Emperors
To threaten, smite and seize. Go, friend, I follow
As swift as thunder presses on the lightning.
Make ready; for we march within the hour.
The public square of Bassora.
Alzayni on a dais; in front a scaffold on which stand Nureddene, an executioner, Murad and others. Almuene moves between the dais and scaffold. The square is crowded with people.
Ho! listen, listen, Moslems. Nureddene,
Son of Alfazzal, son of Sawy, stands
Upon the rug of blood, the man who smote
Great Viziers and came armed with forgeries
To uncrown mighty Kings. Look on his doom,
You enemies of great Alzayni, look and shake.
My lord, forgive me who am thus compelled,
Oh much against my will, to ill-requite
Your father's kindly favours.
Give me water;
I thirst.
When the King waves the signal, wait; strike not
Too hastily.
Captain, I will await thy nod.
Rebellious sworder! Givest thou drink
To the King's enemies!
God waits for thee,
Thou wicked Vizier.
Who was that?
A voice.
Mighty Sultan, give the word.
There is a movement in the crowd and cries.
It is Ibn Sawy.
Make way for the Vizier, the good Vizier. He's saved! he's saved.
Enter Alfazzal; he looks with emotion at
Nureddene, then turns to the King.
Greeting, my King; my work in Roum is over.
Virtuous Alfazzal! we will talk with thee
As ever was our dearest pleasure; first,
There is a spotted soul to be dislodged
From the fair body it disgraced; a trifle
Soon ended. There behold the criminal.
The criminal! Pardon me, mighty King;
The voice of nature will not be kept down.
Nay, 'tis himself
Insisted obstinately on his doom;
Abused his King, battered and beat my Vizier,
Forged mighty Haroun's signature to wear
My crown in Bassora. These are the chief
Of his offences.
If this thing is true,
As doubtless near inquiry in Bagdad —
Nay, take not up thy duties all too soon.
Rest from thy travel, bury thy dear son
And afterwards resume thy faithful works,
My Vizier.
I would not see my dear child slain.
Permit me to depart and in my desolate house
Comfort the stricken mother and his kin.
Perhaps a stone of all thy house may stand.
The mother and thy niece? It hurts my heart.
They too are criminals and punished.
God!
Slaves, help my faithful Vizier; he will faint.
Let me alone; God made me strong to bear.
Nay, a more lenient penalty.
What did I order? To be led through Bassora
Bare in their shifts with halters round their necks,
And, stripped before all eyes, whipped into swooning,
Then sold as slaves but preferably for little
To some low Nazarene or Jew. Was that
The order, Almuene?
Merciful Allah!
I doubt not, it is done.
Their crime?
Conspiring murder. They have killed
The son of Almuene. Good Ibn Sawy,
God's kind to thee who has relieved thy age
Of human burdens. Thus He turns thy thought
To His ineffable and simple peace.
God, Thou art mighty and Thy will is just.
King Mahomed Alzayni, I have come
To a changed world in which I am not needed.
Nay, Vizier, clasp thy son,
And afterwards await within my hearing
Release.
My Nureddene, my child!
Justice
Of God, thou spar'st me nothing. Father! Father!
Bow to the will of God, my son; if thou
Must perish on a false and hateful charge,
A crime in thee impossible, believe
It is His justice still.
I well believe it.
I doubt not I will join you, son. We'll hold
Each other's hands upon the narrow way.
Hast done, Alfazzal?
Do thy will, O King.
Strike.
What are these proud notes? this cloud of dust
That rushes towards us from the north? The earth
Trembles with horse-hooves.
Let this wretch be slain;
We shall have leisure then for greater things.
Pause, pause! A horseman gallops through the crowd
Which scatters like wild dust. Look, he dismounts.
Hail to thee, Mohamad Alzayni! Greeting
From mightier than thyself.
What art thou, Arab?
Jaafar bin Barmak, Vizier world-renowned
Of Haroun, master of the globe, comes hither.
He's in your streets, Alzayni. Thus he bids thee:
If Nureddene, thy Vizier's son, yet lives,
Preserve him, Sultan, as thy own dear life;
For if he dies, thou shalt not live.
My guards!
Beware, Alzayni.
The force he brings could dislocate each stone
In Bassora within the hour and leave
Thy house a ruin. In his mighty wake
A mightier comes, the Caliph's self.
'Tis well.
I have but erred. My Murad, here to me!
Murad, thou shalt have gold, a house, estate,
Noble and wealthy women for thy wives.
Erred, King, indeed who took a soldier
For an assassin. King, my household gem
I have saved and want no others. Were she gone,
Thou wouldst not now be living.
Am I betrayed?
Call it so, King.
My throne is tumbling down.
The crowd quite parts, the horsemen drive towards us.
Sultan Alzayni, kill thy enemies,
Then die. Wilt thou be footed to Bagdad,
Stumbling in fetters?
They are here.
This sight
Is thy own sentence. Mahomed Alzayni,
Allah deprived thee of reason to destroy thee,
When thou didst madly disobey thy lord.
'Twas a mistake, great Vizier. We had thought
The script a forgery.
Issue of Khakan,
I have seen many Viziers like thyself,
But none that died in peace. Hail, Nureddene!
I greet thee, Sultan, lord in Bassora.
It is the second toss that tells, the first
Was a pure foul. I thank Thee, who hast only
Shown me the edge of thy chastising sword,
Then pardoned. Father, embrace me.
Ah, child,
Thy mother and thy sister!
They are safe
And in my care.
Nay, God is kind; this world
Most leniently ruled.
Sultan Alzayni, Vizier Almuene,
By delegated power I seize upon you,
The prisoners of the Caliph. Take them, guards.
I've brought a slave-girl for you, Nureddene,
The Caliph's gift.
I'll take her, if I like her.
Life is my own again and all I love.
Great are Thy mercies, O Omnipotent!
The palace in Bassora.
Ibn Sawy, Ameena, Nureddene, Anice-Aljalice, Doonya, Ajebe.
End, end embraces; they will last our life,
Thou dearest cause at once of all our woes
And their sweet ender! Cherish her, Nureddene,
Who saved thy soul and body.
Surely I'll cherish
My heart's queen!
Only your slave-girl.
You've got a King,
You lucky child! But I have only a Turk,
A blustering, bold and Caliph-murdering Turk
Who writes me silly letters, stabs my lovers
When they would run away with me, and makes
A general Turkish nuisance of himself.
'Tis hard, Sultan of Bassora, great Sultan,
Grave high and mighty Nureddene! thy sister
And subject —
Doonya, it is not Faeryland.
It is, it is, and Anice here its queen.
A faery King of faery Bassora,
Do make a General of my general nuisance.
I long to be my lady Generaless
Of Faeryland, and ride about and charge
At thorns and thistles with a charming-stick,
With Balkis and Mymoona for my Captains —
They're very martial, King, bold swashing fighters! —
Ajebe our Treasurer.
To ruin you again?
We'll have Shaikh Ibrahim for Lord High Humbug
Of all our Faeryland; shall we not, Anice?
What nonsense, children! You a Sultan, child!
Your Sultan, mother, as I ever was.
Let happiness flow out in smiles. Our griefs
Are ended and we cluster round our King.
Enter Haroun, Jaafar, Murad, Sunjar,
guards with Alzayni and Almuene.
The peace, Commander of the Faithful!
Noble Alfazzal, sit. Sit all of you.
This is the thing that does my heart most good
To watch these kind and happy looks and know
Myself for cause. Therefore, I sit enthroned,
Allah's Vicegerent, to put down all evil
And pluck the virtuous out of danger's hand.
Fit work for Kings! not merely the high crown
And marching armies and superber ease.
Sunjar, Murad and Ajebe, you your King
Can best reward. But, Ajebe, in thy house
Where thou art Sultan, those reward who well
Deserve it.
They shall be my household queens,
Enthroned upon my either hand.
'Tis well.
Sultan Alzayni, not within my realm
Shall Kings like thee bear rule. Great though thy crimes,
I will not honour thee with imitation,
To slay unheard. Thou shalt have judgment, King,
But for thy Vizier here, his crimes are open
And loudly they proclaim themselves.
Lord, spare me.
For some offences God has punished thee.
Shall I, His great Vicegerent, spare? Young King
Of Bassora, to thee I leave thy enemy.
I did according to my blood and nurture,
Do thou as much.
He has beguiled me, Caliph.
I cannot now pronounce his doom.
Then I will.
Death at this moment!
And his house and fortune
Are to thy father due. Take him and slay.
Let not his sad and guiltless wife be engulfed
In his swift ruin. Virtuous Alfazzal, —
She is my wife's dear sister and my home
Is hers, my children will replace her son.
All then is well. Anice, you're satisfied?
I never was so scared in all my life
As when you rose against me.
Pardon me!
Fair children worthy of each other's love
And beauty! till the Sunderer comes who parts
All wedded hands, take your delights on earth,
And afterwards in heaven. Meanwhile remember
That life is grave and earnest under its smiles,
And we too with a wary gaiety
Should walk its roads, praying that if we stumble,
The All-Merciful may bear our footing up
In His strong hand, showing the Father's face
And not the stern and dreadful Judge. Farewell.
I go to Roman wars. With you the peace!
Peace with thee, just and mighty Caliph, peace.
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