Alas! The Child Was Ripped

Scripting life, literature and Kashmir history, symbolically

      

           Last night I saw the savage world
               And heard the blood beat up the stairs.
                ..The moon gives way to widespread sun
              Yes but the pain still crouches where
             The young fox and the child are trapped
           And cries of love are cries of fear.

Pondering on the relation of Life and Literature and that of humans in the backdrop of history of our land; Jammu & Kashmir, I quoted supra Verses of Elizabeth Jennings- that flashed on my mind’s screen tonight as I turned the pages of the famous play The Caucasian Chalk Circle of Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956) with thoughts of adaptation, not adoption, ringing in my ear, on the frequency matching that of the beloved’s voice, when she enquired what I was reading.

My memory does not serve me well tonight whether the simple story originated in China or Solomon’s land but Brecht created out of it the masterpiece that captivates readers all over the world, even today and performance of the play continues beyond Germany; where scars left by Berlin Wall have almost vanished, recently.

A non-conformist German Playwright Brecht wrote a number of plays with strong political messages to intellectually stimulate and politically motivate his audiences- whom he endeavored to teach not to accept the world as they found. 

Agitated brain and turbulent times often give birth to marvelous pieces. A finger on the temple isn’t a barrel of gun—if at all it seems so the former is more powerful. The latter only moron brandish in the civilized world. However, the so called calm of opiate hermits too, isn’t productive. Lull before a storm may be the favourite words of some people & raat jitni bhi sangeen hogi, subeh utni hi rangeen hogi of others but I prefer lake like ambiance of calm & peace that follows turmoil hours of the hum drum of our daily existence. Besides this, O’ listener, don’t misunderstand me if I disagree equating J&K of 1947 with the cliché, woman of heavenly beauty (of aatish-e-chinar), for I would love Child instead.  TCC Circle, written in 1945, is set in the time Russia was aflame with civil war. The place is Nuka Khanate, near Azerbaijan, where interestingly, as per Literature, Prometheus was chained.

When wisdom burned to ashes
And blood ran down the street
When towns were set on fire
And the river of blood rose higher.             
All mankind should love each other
But bring an axe when you talk to your brother
What miracles of preaching.

The play contains two parallel stories that at the end merge into one. One centering on the drunken peasant- corrupt Azdak, who is put into the powerful role of Judge. The other story is about plucky servant girl of peasant background, Grusha- who, during the political overthrow, rescues the abandoned child of Natella- Governor’s wife. Grusha loses herself to a life and sacrifice for the child and her act of compassion imperils her personal happiness and safety. 

And the courts overflowed with schemers
And the church was made of blasphemers
Your son begged food from the lowliest poor
Your wife became a festering whore
Men won't do much for a shilling
But for a pound they might be willing  
Its fishy to fix the scales of power
Thankfully, he's in the ivory tower
The poor man's magistrate…
Who's the man to seal your fate
True Lyrics in the play are really nice but beautiful lines like these are many:
Nothing belongs to anyone from all eternity….when you were young you didn’t even belong to yourself…You belonged to Kazbeki princess.
Girl Tractorist: A piece of land is not a cap.
The city lies still, but why are there armed men?
Governor’s palace is at peace, but why is it a fortress?
No longer the hour to eat goose

 …Noon was the hour to die
You won’t be moving into a new palace, but into a little hole in the ground.

The child called her; or so it seemed to her. Woman it said, help me…he who hears not a cry for help but passes by with troubled ears will never hear the gentle call of a lover nor the Blackbird at dawn.

Monk; Dear wedding and funeral guests…. .Deeply touched we stand before a bed of death and marriage. The bride gets a veil, the groom a shroud.

During trial-in part V, before peasant-judge Azdak, Grusha claims the reared child as her own. The judge has to decide about the custody of the child. Should he be given to natural mother who abandoned him or to the one who saved him from certain death?

Solomon-like decree comes: that to settle the matter the two women must compete to yank the child from a chalk circle drawn on the ground. The play is about fairness and equality, status and responsibility; among other things. We can put it this way: war & survival, concept of justice and thirdly strength of LOVE. Brecht believed that muddle of integration & fusion that extends to the spectator creates fog, so distancing audience from actions by alienation effects of dramaturgy, helps spectators to evaluate, instead of getting merely swayed, though learning has a very different function for different social strata and mental abilities but for pleasurable learning and ribald humour goes well in epic theatre, where dramatic situation and lyrics set to music together produce rich results.

He gives to the forsaken
All the riches from the rich that he hath taken
Justice for nothing, mercy for free
Give it to the poor, give it to me
Who can it be? Who can it be?
Broken laws like breath he gave them
justice to the poor and lowly
Like an angel, not so holy.
Who can it be? Who can it be?
Azdak! “
“Ripping the child from the circle is callousness”, pat came her soft voice.
“Of course, now substitute the child with my blighted homeland of pre-partition days and shed a tear with me, tonight, my love because surrealistically here we had four mothers, I said to her while reading from the said play.”

With this, dear reader I say adieu, to you too, till we meet on this page, again but do give a thought to my parting shot : unification not divisiveness is the miracle possible ONLY through Love- of all sorts, and all that preaches otherwise is blah, blah, blah.

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