 academic, and Steven, the place where they both meet. We have the audience, and part of it's where we gather. We make some practices, and start with practices. Examples of women sharing. What is it to share how you do that? There's nobody you can ignore that thing anymore. What are you talking about? What time is it now? It started out about different people, one about different things. You'll see the universe of everybody. Yes, everybody. That's it for today. And indeed, I understand that my relationship with that has already changed. So, thank you everybody for coming out for the final performance today of the Penfold Voices Festival. It's a fantastic lineup of great writers, age writers from all over the planet. And these are all emerging writers. They're great, great, great masters of their field. They're coming from Japan, South Africa, from Croatia, Sweden, and Israel, and many, many other countries. Again, thank you for coming. I'm Frank Henschka, the Executive Director and Director of Programs at the Center v. Bridge Academia and Professional Theater, International and American Theater. The Penfold Voices Festival for ten years now has been a real part of our programming. When they started the festival, there were no playwrights in it. I wrote them for two years. There were three playwrights in there. They got even Nobel Prizes once in a while. So, this is a fantastic thing. And Pen is a great organization. And it's a real honor for us that we are connected to this. This evening is extremely special for us for two things. First, Shayed Nadim, the playwright. He flew in from Pakistan to be with us. Maybe you'll wave. He's been back after five or six years. You were here with the play. So, thank you. Thank you to all the great writers of this planet, of this world. This play was a very interesting production in London. A surprise, a hit, one might even say. And so, this is a really unique thing. Tanya Roddard, an adaptation from it based on his play. They collaborated to adapt it. You know, also for our eyes, it's different in theater. It's often like a homeopathic pill. It has to be a little bit different where it works. And of course, we are so honored that Oscar is with us. He directed this play. And that he took time out of his busy life. And this is really a busy life, what he is, but also a great creative life. So, congratulations on all your work. And it's the greatest honor that you said, you know, will come for Shayed, for Tanya, but also for the Segal Center and the Graduate Center here. So, it's a great honor. If you have a cell phone, take it out for one moment. And I will do the same and just make sure it's off. So, it says... It never rings in our performances, so just make sure it's off. Okay, so thank you very, very much. And now we have Dara by Shayed Nadine, adaptation from Tanya Roddard, directed by Oscar Eustace. Thank you. In a thin linen tunic, bangs on a huge door. He is half-wild with hunger and exhaustion. It is early 1659 in Gal, India. Open up. Tell us yourself, sir. Fetch your master. Watchman opens a hatch in the door. Your name, sir? I can't hear you. You have to shout through. It's wood. It's very heavy door. The servant speaks to another servant inside. You won't get his name. Why not? I don't know. Can you tell us who you are, sir? I'll leave you on. We'll know. I am no foe. Fetch him. We can't, sir, without your name. Open. Will you? We can just take your... I'm not giving it to you. Get your master. Scipia, a boy of 13, joins Dara. Without the usual pageant, they want my name. Pushing me to pass through some commonplace door. Oh, there. Even releasing a lock seems beyond me these days. That's right on. It's half a day to Persia. I know where we are. We need help. Food? Not just food. The leak has cold to give Scipia here. We cannot turn up as beggars in Persia, stinking in defeat. They're friends, yes, but still we need a rock, a foundation upon which to build a new army. You trust money? I saved his life, Scipia here. But is he trustworthy? What are you jeopardizing? There's nothing left to take. There is you. That is left to take. We could all be taken at any moment, whenever Allah sees fit. We have no choice. We have to stop our own Scipia here, while our empire will petrify. He is a blinkering bigot, a narrower vision of Islam, never existed. We will all be driven underground. Who's there? Malik Johan. What do you want? A harmonious kingdom, a glass of water. Difficult question to answer. The door creaks open. I know how I must look. Is that Prince Dara? Emperor Dara, according to my father, but he is imprisoned in his own palace. I am Shahazan's crown prince. A sudden movement, Scipia emerges from the shadows. Defense! Malik's men, physician themselves, are... It's my son Malik Johan, my son Scipia. The bravest of youths, his current guard, does not represent his qualities, but which exterior was ever eloquent about the pearl within? Greetings, Sir Johan. Where are your men? Balinal, we are third. Third? The best thirty apostles of loyalty. A month ago, we were a thousand times that many, but now we are without military escort. Who drives you to this, Prince Dara? My brother, Malik Johan. Prince Otto Zed. He has deli, he has argo forts surrounded, my father and sister Johanara, beyond my care's reach, inside. He uses my home for his family, whilst his fast-swelling army haunts us down, baby brother Marad in tow. Runtit claims no interest in the throne, yet he craves it undeservedly, but our father, the emperor, still lives, will not let him take it. You have always been brave, your son. To bluster, Malik Johan, part greed, part fear, mostly fury. I am gripped with hatred for Orangza. I have never, and I have never been for anyone. Allah tests you, Prince. And I am ready. We need a knight with you under your roof, before we march through the bold past to be grouped. We might have reached Persia weeks ago with my wife. The remainder of our army return to the core with Allah-mashirah Sufi's. They buried her next to the Sufi master, beyond me and soon. Digging in the dark like these, because we are Orangza's enemies now, no Sufi is safe. I'm sorry. Nadira has no stomach for war. The less one has, the closer one is to God, yet this death punches the bliss from me. But here you are at the edge of our empire. And here we stand, talking in the dark. Come in, Prince, you are welcome. Thank you, welcome. Thank you, my little Johan. I'd not be here were not for you, Prince. I'd have been crunched under your father's formidable elephant. Please, let us follow you in. Act one, scene two. Orangza, 42. Carefully unfolds a prayer mat. A muizin sings the call to prayer in the gaps of song. Hereby, a girl, another time, another place, a memory of Orangza sings a Hindu song. Orangza prays he's in a large tent pitched amongst his army. Hereby sings again. Orangza, distracted biker, turns to look. His attention is snapped back by Murad, appearing at the entrance of his tent. His aid behind him. Orangza completes his prayers, rolls up his mat, greets Murad warmly. Orangza, I'm glad you came, please join me. My man will fetch you a man some tea. He stays. Then we shall have tea brought. And wine for you, Murad. Are you drinking? You must celebrate your hymns. How, Your Holiness, did you never indulge? In alcohol, no. Imad, Orangza's secretary, brings Murad wine and his aid tea. You must sometimes want the taste in your mouth. Not at all. I could drink all day long. Was it grandfather Jahangir or would you offer? I don't need a human specter. Just the cautions of the Quran. When he diluted his rum to slow his decay, he thinned it not with water as a wise man would, but with wine. Confirming that alcohol beacons the intellect. Not as much as opium admittedly, which grandfather was also partial to, but you saw all that. I don't remember much. Really? Finished inviving by late morning? Was fast asleep by lunch, propped up on cushions like a whore? He drank, his wife ruled. You lived there for two whole years. Is the wine good? Would you like some more? Don't you mind that I drank? Because you're a soldier to the court. That's where you are. They don't understand you at court. They haven't grasped that the worm turned long ago. I don't need your protection, Orangza. I know what they say and I know what they'll be thinking when they bow to me. They need to look in your eyes to see the bones. My timid blood. Stronger in you, Murad, than the rest of us. Put together. It's worth remembering that, Orangza. No more. Orangza pours wine. Why did you rush ahead? Why did you stay behind? You, uh... The astrologers said it was auspicious to forge forwards. We had to respond quick. You made me question our arrangement. We were fighting side by side, and suddenly without warning, my men were at the back like sheep. I am impatient to deliver you to Deli, brother, to have your name emblazoned on the court. You got my letters. I got three. Murad will perfectly write the Indian Empire. All of Hindustan is thirsty for this change. Why not you? What stops you from ruling? I am not a king. But whilst I wish my brother well, I will not sit back and watch Dara take the throne. Because you would dissipate our religion? Dilute and dissipate. His religious observance is lax. And mine is not. You do not spend your days writing mystical poetry. Did you see his soldiers? That wasn't an army. It was a collection of bakers and cobblers with swords. You know, when he writes, he still addresses me as baby brother. I serve my empire replacing an emperor I will leave in on the peacock throne. Then show me a room and let me devour the words of Allah and his prophet. May peace be upon him for the rest of my days. Where do you envisage this room being? Wherever you see fit, your highness. I trust you brother. I serve you well in this world. The people of Delhi adore Dara. He throws money at them. Of course they love him. Can I trust you? Where's your holy book? Here. He brings out his Quran. I thought you memorized it long ago. Still it is always with me. Swear on it. Swear what? What you will. Aurangzeb places his hand on the Quran. I swear that I am working in your best interest to deliver what our empire needs most. You would its help. You didn't spin on that in a hurry. Say, I can offer the massage services of an expert slave room. Is she good? Fair? My tent is yours brother. Anything you need. A girl comes in. May I remove your boots? He is perfectly safe. I'll stay if you don't mind. Of course. Murad giving himself over to his massage stalls a sound of deep satisfaction. Aurangzeb leaves. In act one scene three Malik betrays Dara handing him over to his brother Aurangzeb's men. Sapir manages to escape. In act one scene four Aurangzeb betrays Murad Garrett garroting his aide and carting up Murad off to prison. Act one scene five. In Agra Fort Shah Jahan rails against a letter. Is he coming here? Aurangzeb hasn't the decency to face me. Sending me orders from Delhi. Incompetent to rule. How dare he be? He wants an albaba. Your place on the throne and everything that goes with it. I'm not finished yet. And when the time comes I've chosen my successor. You know it never unfolds like that baba. Every one of your sons is a contender. What are you saying Jahanara? I should have killed the others all? No baba. But this is war. All those lies. It's insatiable. What can we do from here? Wait. Is all. As ever. Until Dara returns to march on Aurangzeb. You don't even know where Dara is. He may be months away. How can we know? Little white snake. It's not enough to have me trapped here like a bear. Aurangzeb wants my fort. He knows the jewels I have in my cellars. Stop it, father. What can you offer? Send Aurangzeb something. Create time for us to think. A glass of poison. Look what he's doing to me. And what did you do to your own kid when you were in Aurangzeb's position? Your surviving brother? Your nephews and cousins? Family blood has been shed on a session before you, baba. What about your sword? Alangir. You mean Alangir? Yes, Alangir. That would please him. It is a sword built for an emperor. It is mine. I know baba. But we have to work with him. Not against him. What if Dara comes? Then everything would change. I need a girl. Fetch me a girl to Hanana. Which one? Sweetmeats are tasty. Whichever stall they're from. It's not good for you, baba. Give us on your body. So give me more silver oil to keep in her eye. I'm a little mad, Dara. I know baba, the most loving. But you are getting old. Not old. Not yet. I'm not done yet. Being six. In the red fork and deli, Alangzeb is presented with Alangir. A sword. The blade is always used. A one we weren't allowed to touch as children. Can we touch it now? May I hold it? Yes, but don't drop it. I won't. Caesar of the universe. Stop it. What's funny? It's the sword's name. It's not mine. But it will be yours. We're on this capture. Dara's captured. Father's confined. It's fine time for Dara. Then he's spending money in an empty shop. Imad enters. That was complete. Prince Dara is a day away. Fine, good. Imad. Yes, sir? Before they enter deli, they must change elephants. Yes, sir. You know, Babita. Babita is sick. Sorry. I want Dara to ride on that elephant. Just as she is. And Sibahir? No one uses yet. Sorry. Alangzeb dismisses Imad. Roshanara hands back the sword. What must Dara be thinking? Emiliation's new to him. He's still sticky with our mother's mirror. Father should watch. Can't you bring them from Agra? I don't have access to them yet. But anyway, his days of appearing in public are over. So father will end his days in a fort the size of a walled city? In the harem of Agra Fort. I will limit him to that section as soon as we get there. The women's quarter's outfitting. Roshanara, you need to control yourself. It's not opposite to interrupt. Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'm going to offer you some wisdom. The key to conquering the self lies in restraint. I apologize. Please continue. My plan. My plan is to lock Father in his own harem as soon as we get there. Well, why don't you just attack? Go in. And destroy those towering walls which are now mine? You need him to surrender. Babe, if for mercy, how much food do they have? The kitchens are full. So as long as they have water and enough to eat, you can drive them out with theirs. It was! In a flow of water, we catch a snatch of Hirabaya learning how to wash before prayer. Orozeb is caught by the memory. Three times. Swish and spit. Three times. Hirab is a mischievous and squirts the water sideways to Orozeb. Act one, scene seven. In Agra, Johanara interrogates a slave, a servant girl. The pipes cannot all be emptied. Try the bathing rooms again. They're dry, my lady. All of them dry. Everything is lost if there is no water. We cannot cook, we cannot drink, we cannot pray. Emperor Orozeb must know this, my lady. How could he? Are you not scared to die, Afya? Not yet, my lady. Why? Because I trust that you will be the fort and beg your brother on your father's behalf for water. How else can I do, Afya? I think Emperor Orozeb must know this, too, my lady. He understands you have no option. Your deaths will be on my hands. My father is yours. Your children's. Of course I must go begging. I know he knows. He has us all now. Act two, scene one. In the past. For a moment, we see all four siblings and their younger counterparts late. Jahanara gives way to her younger self, young Jahanara, 14. Young Bushanara, 11, joins her. It's 30 years earlier, 1629, the Red Fort Deli. There is drumming from the drum room. A slave girl sweeps the great hall with a brush of branches. A male servant squatting, cleans between the floor tiles. Swallows swoop and Twitter through the open hall. A slave rushes by with towels. The girls follow her. Not yet. She just has baby after baby. They are your brothers and sisters, Rashanara. Each one makes her weaker, even when the baby doesn't live. What do you suggest? She stops having children? There are enough of us already, aren't there? Rashanara. You know what's gonna happen if she dies, don't you? I can't believe you just said that. Everybody dies. Even Emperor's wives. You need to be quiet. You'll be in charge. First Lady of the Empire, you'll make all the decisions and everyone will forget about me. Don't talk to me when you're in this mood. Young Rashanara clumps herself down. I was gonna sit there. I wish they'd bring news. It's probably another girl. Why are you smiling? Because, your babies are adorable. Not like you grumpy, what's the matter? I'm bored. It always feels this way when we have to wait. What if we were boys? What would you do if you were a boy? Go outside, run, fight. You know what I would do? Calligraphy. I'd marry. Do you want to get married? Sometimes. And have children? Yes. I'm glad we can. If you have boys, they grow up more powerful than you, but girls, they end up hating you. I don't hate a me. Have you met someone? Rare. We never get the chance. So that might change when Dara's at her. Have you? What? Met someone. I don't believe it. Rashana, how? You're 11 years old. You're 14. Catch up. Itbar, the eunuch, comes in with a heathen's jacket. Girls talk, Itbar. Am I not a girl? Well, you're a eunuch. Do you want to be a girl? Not really. Well then, you're a man. And can't join in our conversation. The boys run in as they pass the water young Dara 13, splashes young Aranze 11. Don't, Aranze. What do you mean I do? He splashed me. Calm down, boys. Look. You always do this when fathers come in. You're always so serious when fathers come in. No, I'm not. Young Rashana splashes young Dara. He, a good humor, splashes her back. Help me. I'm a better aim than you. Would you like my jacket? No, because then I'll look like a boy. Young Dara points the jacket. Itbar is holding. Take Marat's. Wear your baby brother's jacket. Would you like mine, Roshanara? Roshanara splashes Dara again. Roshanara. What? Shah Jahan enters. Gather around. Happen, father? We have a song to prepare all the way from France. It's for your mother. Who can tell me where France is? It's close to that little island. The British Isles. And the monarch? King Charles. No, Petal. He rules the little Isles. Who rules France? Servant enters. Excuse me, Your Excellency. A fakir is here. Carrying apples. Sure I meant it. The servant goes out backwards, never turning his back on the emperor. The girls cover their faces with veils. King Louis XIII. Ah, Louis the Just. The servant returns with a young fakir with long, uncovered hair and a little, very little on. He holds apples. Two red apples? How? Trees, my lord. Which trees? They are invisible to some eyes. My pregnant wife yearns for apples. I've had every tree in Kashmir investigated. The entire region, nothing is in season. Yet you arrive with two shiny apples. Where is your tree? Oh, it's not my tree, Sire. I possess nothing but what you see me in. Yet you bring more than gold. May I ask you a question, Sire? Gold. Smell your hands. How do they smell? The distinct smell of these beautiful fruits. Whenever you suffer ill health, Sire, inhale the odor from your hands. If you still smell the scent of apples, you have longer to live. But when you cease to smell apples, your life has reached its term. Would it be sickness, fakir? Would I die a natural death? I cannot tell you that, Sire. I can only see what I see. Which is more than you say. I charge you a question. Which son of mine, born or unborn, will destroy my bloodline? I'm sorry, Sire. Answer. That is unfair to ask, Sire, with your two sons present. Nonetheless, it is a question I pose. They are just boys. They are princes. Princes have ears of flint. That is the question I command you. What if I'm wrong, Sire? You could lie to me, or you could tell me what you see. But if you do neither, you will not live beyond sundown. Of your living sons? The one with paint skin? God, I'm sorry. I beg your pardon. Please, go. Come here, I'm sorry. Did you hear what the fakir said? Yes, Father. Are you going to destroy me one day, boy? No, Father. You had better not, you little snake. Do you hear? Why would he, Father? You had better not. Take these apples to my wife. Give them to the ladies. Run. The servant, Bowis, takes the apples and leaves running backwards. Shah Jahan smells his hands. I don't know what sort of magic it is you practice, but I'm grateful. No magic, your lordship. I didn't mean to misguide you. How will the prophets may peace be upon him, path and love? Every one of us, within Allah's measure, can open our fate up. Like a flower, lift up to the sun and broaden our way. Don't leave without filling your purse. I don't have need of money, Sire. Well, food then. No food, Sire. Thank you. He wants for nothing. Show him out. Goodbye, children of the empire. Forgive my imprudence. Remember, rock is the same as jewel. Only the latter holds life. The fakir leaves with the servant backwards. Ooh, what is he? Father, who is that fakir? I met him on the mosque steps. How could Sufi see like that? See what? Everything. They see nothing. How could he be a Muslim, Baba? He didn't even have clothes on. He's not a real Muslim. Clothes are irrelevant. Not in the Quran. It's a different kind of Muslim. I'd rather that than the mullah's long cloaks. The best garment is the garment of righteousness. Quran? Was it righteous? Take him to the courtyard or wherever his baby brother is. Yes, Sire. Quran, Sire. Ignore the enemy. Dara, my washman. And Jahanara, a fresh spring cover. He leads them off. Act two, scene two. The past, a burst of flames. Sixteen, forty-four, fifteen years later, young Jahanara gives way to Jahanara, who is bundled off. Itbar and the fakir are mid-thirties, speaking in hushed, hurried tones. A lamp set the princess alive. It wasn't properly in its alcove. Her dress and her job went up like kindling. Two slave girls died trying to smother the flames. The emperor throws doctor after doctor better. Local, foreign, now you. If I can be of any service. Princess Jahanara will live or die. We cannot influence which. He is Shah Jahan, who needs help. Losing his wife, Mubaz, nearly slew him. For Jahanara to go to him, he crawled into his grave. He mused like a kitten by his side. His children are gathering. Jahanara has been out of bedside since the accident. Is it not here yet? No apples today? There was no request for fruit. Next time you're summoned, in another fifteen years, His Majesty's favorite is watermelon and his partial to mango. Let's go. Just to warn you, her wounds go through muscle and fat to bone. Her left arm is under question whether they should amputate. Has the eyes arrived? Excuse us, slaves fetch a daily supply from the mountains. My lady is concerned with her tardiness. Are you being disrespectful, Ibar? My lady? Tell me as soon as it gets here. Either to prove what a fine first lady she would make. Has the Emperor stopped his building work? The Taj Mahal. A week of inactivity, but the rain is coming so they are back at it now. They have to waterproof it, which means immersing each and every brick in scalded fat. That must be costly. That's indeed. Aurangzeb, twenty-seven, arrives. Where is my sister? Prince Aurangzeb, welcome home. Thank you, Ibtar. What is this Fakir doing here? Salamu alaykum, Sire. I am happy to see you. Did father summon him? He did. Send him home. We do not want you here. It may be polite to wait and see your father. I said leave, you worshipper of idols. I am a Sufi, Sire. A Muslim, not a Hindu. How dare you call your naked dancing Islam? We dance for love of Allah and his prophet may peace be upon him with ecstasy in our hearts. I do not acknowledge that Islam. Daraa, twenty-nine, and Shah Jahan, fifty-two, are very in. No, Sire. Don't stand vows deeply. Fakir follows suit. No, Sire. Have you crossed my threshold? Then you see fit to use my desk. Salam, brother, when did you arrive? Salam alaykum. Why don't I show you to my apartments? You can freshen up. I feel safer in an apartment amount. Safer? You have rooms of your own within mine or sections of the fort. It's newly built. It's secure. I've seen you plowed your funds into the building works, father. I passed the semi-constructed mausoleum. How dare you travel all this distance to foreign cities' allegations with his family? Huh? I'm safe in your own brother's home. I hate to see my sister. The fire was three weeks at all. It's the first invitation in eight years that you've extended me. You've been engaged in other businesses. I have! And the decking crimes under my leadership. So do its mangoes, mango trees, which you have kept close. I have sent fruits of every crime. Do you think I don't know? You keep the best for yourself. I would like to see my sister now. She's sleeping. You won't pay for this haughty and ridiculous attitude. How dare you mistrust us? Take off your sword. I'm stripping you off office. Ah, father! You are no longer in charge of the decking. Ex-friceroid! He did not mean to offend you, father. The ousting of conspiracy for fratricide is offensive and so be it. Aronzeb takes off his sword and strides off. Your Majesty, do you mind if I speak with your son? I do not ever want to see you again. Let me talk with you son. You should have been killed a decade ago. Never trust a snake in the brush. Aronzeb, come home with me. See the family. It was wrong just saying what I saw. I should have chosen death. Yes, you should have. Aronzeb, God will know our hearts. Aronzeb leaves. Act two, scene three. We are back in 1659. Jahanara and Shah Jahan are led to a small room at the top of the Heron Tower of Al-Rafort. The bar are behind bars. It will be me looking after things for you now. Shah Jahan removes his jewels and hands them to Iqbar. Iqbar gives them to a servant who carries them off. How comforting to have an old friend as a jailer. Spend it out then, Iqbar. Don't spend the details. I never saw a greater crowd, Sire. Not even on your coronation. There were no flowers left in the market place. Not a bloom. Every rooftop was crammed, all thirsting for a glimpse of the broken prince. Is Dara broken? As he passed his petite elephant, lumbering her scabbed feet through the vetted streets, they roared their outbreaks from those rooms and windows. Every shadowy corner. Dara, Dara, set Dara free. The elephant's legs shook with every step. She'd not been washed in weeks. Oh, Aronzeb. You would have been warmed by the weaving, Sire. As your people saw their hopes of Prince Dara replacing you with recede, the soothsaying Fakir, who once brought you apples, danced, half naked, intoning, today is Dara's coronation. Emperor Dara is carried to his throne, if only when the whole crowd crooned, Emperor Dara, Emperor Dara, many thousands, all of different religions. And Dara? Like a snapped twig, ma'am. Without the will to even lift his head. I knew it. I felt it. How can a brother do this? Where is he now? In a cell under the Red Fort. I can't sit here. Like a stuffed animal. How irritating to be confined, Sire. After so many years of liberty, but your tower is pleasant. And one of the peaks in what was once your fort, at least you can enjoy a view of your Taj Mahal. Stop it, Ibar. For all time's sake. I can barely see the cursed thing. Sire, don't call it cursed. Ibar! Why is everything being obliterated? My eyes, my son. Leave us, Ibar. I'm sorry, Sire. Leave us, please. Of course, Sire. I may be your tailor, but I can still take instruction, for all time's sake. Shah Jahan looks toward the Taj. It proved to be merely the shadow of a woman who died to you. Some shadow, Baba. It's a physical poem and you know it. The most exquisite monument ever. A ghost is all. Specter white against a ray of life. Its towers as finely arms outstretched to Allah, to our children. The arch in the middle is mine. All mine. Welcoming being to our inner self. So intricate and wise. Imposing. Yet contained. She stood sentry to our lives. Springing to life when you grossed her. Vivid curls of green tendons. And blood red flowers. I miss her so much. I know. How do I soften this for her? Yes, Baba. And some for you. Act two. The throne room of the Red Fork deli. Aranzeb sits on the peacock throne meters above his fingers. Roshanar, what is it? Sire, Malik Jawan has been attacked by the crowd. Malik Jawan? They hailed him for handing Dara over. What happened? He was riding down Chandichok. Apparently at first there were just a few jeers. Then a woman threw muck at him. Then everybody joined in with stones, pots and from the high up windows the contents of their latrines. Our soldiers beat back the crowd, then brought him to the royal guest house. He's here now? Yes. Lillisan, unprotected your majesty, the crowd will kill him. They want meat, so give them meat. The man betrays benefactor would not go on before he deceived us too. Now, to the matter at hand, my brother in our dungeons. Anyone? Your holy majesty, you struggled hard for rights within this family. And look at it now. Sixty days on a camel's back to cross your empire, Sire, from the decking to Kashmir, from Bengal to the Punjab. Everything is yours. Your father wasted resources on opulent monuments, but you, Sire, will expand and consolidate the empire. Don't flatter me, cousin. I wouldn't. Don't be so salty that I have to spit you out, nor so cloying that I choke on you. So long as Prince Dara lives in or out of prison, he could incite mutiny. Sire, I think that killing him would be conducive to the common good. Your religion, Sire, your mercy and your bloodline call for your sparing of your brother. Prince Dara will be a hanging sword like he lives. When Dara does no threat, he can waste in prison for as long as it takes. But Dara, Dara inspires love and love as we know is dangerous. Sire, we cannot simply kill Dara. The crowds have seen and screamed for him. He is a threat to my rule. Beheading a popular rebel makes us feel safe, temporarily. If you'd killed him in battle, this question, how would it be where Dara and her would not prevail? But execute him as a political prisoner and that question would fill people's minds for the length of your time. How do we quell such doubts? If you'd allowed M'lotharouk to do. Your thoughts? Your Majesty, you're the highest embodiment of knowledge on religion and war. Not over-sulting or through chivalry. You have defeated Dara politically. He's isolated. The governors and gentry are with you. Physically, he's imprisoned yet. There is a piece of ground where he remains undefeated. Which ground? The high ground. He is morally strong. His search for the commonality between people can make him seem saintly. Saintly? His eclectic laissez-faire habit sickens me. I'm surprised he didn't call his sons Deepak and Richard. Unfortunately, however, people adore him. It's not just his physical form that must perish, but also his mythology. We're at proven that Dara defied not only brother, but flouted God himself and Islamic ruler would be in vote to take serious action. Though the Quran advises it's not to sever ourselves from our family. The greater divine injunction would speak to Dara's desertion of Islam. Word proved that he no longer upheld Islam's supremacy and could therefore be called an infidel. How much evidence is there for such an accusation? Act 3, scene 1. Agra Fort. Afiya approaches Iqbar with a tray. I hear Dara is going to court. There is no limit to what families do to one another. So much crueler than they are to strangers. What does the emperor think? Who? Aruzah? Shah Jahan. He is not emperor anymore. You can stop calling it that. It's a difficult habit to break. Does this smell odd to you? Iqbar sniffs the food. This plate. The other is for Jahanara. It smells fine. Maybe I'm being suspicious. We don't need this separate cook. The kitchens can manage perfectly well but the instruction came that the emperor Who? Arangzeb's Baba needed separate food because of his age and infirmity. As if Daya could cure failing eyesight an insatiable desire for coitus. Not something you suffer from? The eyes nor the other? I am not fully a man. You know that? Some girls wouldn't care. They'd be happy just to be helped. Nor are my eyes lighted. You are a very beautiful girl. Aqiyah. Aqiyah steps toward him. He backs away. When Mumtaz Mahal was alive Shah Jahan was more moderate, wasn't he? She did have 14 pregnancies. Poor queen. No, she didn't. Without their father. I don't see them enough. But my mother manages. If there's anything I can do. I shouldn't worry about the food. Arangzeb was poisoning his father. Aqiyah, I wouldn't care. That's not true, Itbar. Have you talked such nonsense? No, I don't. You bathe his eyes each morning. So? Shah Jahan has earned his son's hatred for everything. Go back to the kitchen and try it on one of the daughters. They're expecting their lunch. They are prisoners. They must abide by our schedules now. I can't help pitting them. Because your heart is soft, Aqiyah. Maybe it always remains so. In act three, scene two. Jahanara comes to beg for Dara's life. Arangzeb says it's in the judge's hands. They've seen three. courtroom deli 1659. The room is full of men. Up behind the marble screen are the shadows of women. Dara is brought in. Both hands and feet feathered. Court commences. Counsel, bringing the case against the accused. Stand. Counsel, defending the accused. Stand. You are defending yourself, Prince. He's defending himself? I am Arangzeb. We can't have him like this. Remove the leg, risk it. But keep the hand fronters on. Guards release Dara from his place. Stand the Prince there. Today, the 29th of August 1659, Prince Dara Shikoh is here to be tried for the crime of an apostasy punishable by death. We will test the accused's acceptance or disavowal of the superiority and differentiveness of Islam. Ready? Affirmative, Your Honor. Yes, Your Honor. I call the counsel for the prosecution. Your first witness? My one and only witness. The accused. A busy day for you, Prince. On to the witness stand. Do you swear by Allah to tell the truth and only the truth in this court? By Allah, I do. Prosecutor, proceed. Thank you. When a man willfully strays from Islam, it is the most profound defection. When this man is a Prince for so many years, the Crown Prince, admired by every child in the empire, such deviation is unpardonable. Left to his own devices, this particular man could mislead every subject in this land. My prediction for today is that we will expose that the accused, standing here, is every last inch the living embodiment of this perilous desertion. Proceed. Without further ado, let us open with the first blazing fact against the accused. You went to some lengths, did you not? Prince Dara, engaging the help of Hindu pundits to translate certain Sanskrit texts into Persian texts which you have blithely called the translation. I refer, of course, to the ancient Hindu writing of the Upanishads. Can you confirm? You have these works translated. Stories passed down from Hindu to Hindu. What exactly is it that they revealed? You've not read them, prosecutor? No, I am a Muslim. I did not know that being a Muslim meant being ignorant of other cultures. Tell us, since you're such an avid reader of them about the Upanishads Prince. They are philosophical discussions about God's universe. They speak of our physical, astrological and spiritual worlds being linked. They predate the Quran and I am convinced that they are the one they are one of the blessed books referred to in the Quran. Convinced are you now? The hidden source of the Quran acknowledges as being the fountain head of monotheism. Monotheism predated Islam. And all the Abrahamic faiths. Making Islam simply another in a long line of religions, Prince Dara. Not simply that to me, prosecutor, seeing as it is my religion you should not be a good judge of that day. There's an appreciative murmur from the benches. As we will illustrate your interest flaying around so widely Prince you seem unable to stick even to monotheistic religions. One God, several hundred you're in our particular. Tell us why we're on the matter. Is it not true that you are a self-proclaimed friend of this new cult religion that seeks? I am sympathetic to their beliefs. If that casts me as a friend then yes. Their beliefs being something of a hybrid, a bit of a Hinduism a pinch of Islam. The best of both. So we can pick and choose from God's words. Can we? Improve on his universe. The Quran has everything. Is everything but I do not also appreciate the value in but I do also appreciate the value in the Hindu texts. The Sikhs, young as they are look to both these magnificent religions for guidance and inspiration accept his will, be humble be courageous. You should go tell us are you a secret Sikh? No. No, I am a Muslim who recognizes that other religions have value. Equal value just Islam. I cannot say equal yet ultimately they lead to the same understanding or very similar. There is a ripple for the court. As anticipated my witness is providing all the evidence against himself that we could possibly wish. What kind of evidence? A prosecutor, a sign of religious knowledge that can only count against me when looked at from a deficit of reading and imagination. I advise you Prince to hold your tongue before you insult me further. What you say here in court and I've said every day of your life since you were a teenage is blasphemous and a deviation from the back. Yes it is not and furthermore you and your cronies have been stacking ammunition against me twisting each word I utter every day of my life since I was a teenage prosecutor talent. You can explain yourself further when you are running your defense. Right now it is the prosecutor's line of questioning. Thank you Prince. Let's speed on past countless other heretical translation the Hara Gita itself for example to which you can return if the need presents itself and attend to the accused own written works. The mingling of two oceans this book was offered by you. It was mingling the commonality between Islam and hinduism. Islam and hinduism being the two oceans if you like. I don't like. I think that idea seems strikingly similar to the aforementioned seeds to mingle or should we say mangle different religions to imagine that Islam takes its place alongside hinduism or any other say this is fact prosecutor ours is one of many different systems of faith in the world. So you believe frankly Prince that the hindu faith is as valid as the muslim faith. Do a hindu yes. Islam is not supreme. There is a commotion as Saphir's brought into the courtroom in chains. Saphir. I wasn't able to run anymore father. I'm sorry. Did they hurt you? Did they hurt you? He addresses his last question to the marvel screens where the women are. The court murmuring turned to look at where he is looking. Silence and court sit the boy down. I have not seen my son. How has he since being captured. He is forced to sit down. Now is not the time for reunion Prince Dara. Prosecute the league. Please continue your course. Prince Dara. Let me ask you once more. Now that the late comers have settled Is Islam supreme? Who cares which door you're open to come into the light? The cause of your cares. Your son Prince Saphir appears to care and I would be most surprised if our honorable emperor did not care. La ilaha illallah Muhammad Rasoolallah There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger. Yet for you any door will do. In your book which I have read the deposit that Hinduism and Islam share so many characteristics that they should could almost be yoked. Tell us Prince Dara as we were dearly loved to know. How can Islam our monotheist single-pointed religion mingle with a religion which worships Allah and has endless numbers of gods? There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger. Beyond the glaring separation you will discover the same desire to know God. The same attempt to live better lives to help us reach meaning. Examine the impulse behind their systems prosecutor. The religions share utterly an understanding of what it is to be human. A human Muslim? A human Hindu? Or a human Sikh? Prosecutor Dara explain to us what is the difference? But behind the screen there is a hearty laugh. Sounds distinctly like Roshana era. So you could just as easily call yourself a Hindu or a Sikh? Of course I couldn't because I am Muslim and my humanness is shared with anyone and everyone. If we choose to love one special person does it mean that they are the only person worth loving? To you, your religion to me mine. There is no obligation in religion. We cannot force our religion upon others. We reach for God because we want to because he shapes our lives. There should be no coercion in worship. So we should do what we like pray when we want and not when we don't want. Who said discipline is not useful? I only say that our duty as Muslims whose God tells us there is no obligation in religion is to allow all faiths to flourish. Is that not what our empire is built on? The very reasons the moguls are great. We were the minority. Who were we to march into new territory and oppose our creed on a massive majority of different faiths. Barbar knew that. Akbar the great knew it. Jahangar knew it. They each had weaknesses but they all embraced the range of beliefs within their empire. Barbar, founder of it all, banned cow slaughter and Delhi had a respect. Jahangar's own mother was Hindu. Open-mindness is well sprung of who we are and what an empire. Our monuments, our paintings, books books to die for. A music the expression of our humanity afford forth from variety. Akbar's genius was to harness different traditions as his reward was vibrant prosperous kingdom. Akbar made his governors read poems by Rumi. Sorry to interrupt your diatribe prince directly. Are you a polytheist? Do you like the Hindus or should many gods? One God. Your God. Mine is not easily mistaken for a Hindu or a Christian God. Allah is God of all not just the Muhammad deans it is revered to me by inspiration that your Allah is one Allah. Who spoke this? Prosecutor? Iron name Tanner? Answer the accuser's question Muhammad made peace be upon him who also said that two religions cannot coexist in the irregular peninsula. But that is a survival argument not a spiritual one. Are you calling Muhammad peace be upon him a strategist? Of course partly. Muhammad peace be upon him said those things in a single moment and he admitted himself he was but a man. This produces gasps from the mullahs. Now we are reducing to mortal status and calling him fake. Is that how you feel about the Quran prince? Do you consider it secretly made of dispensable ideas? I am worn down and my heart is full. Please forgive my inadequacies in expressing myself. I struggle with describing my faith to others. Never mind that you have written hundreds of poems on that matter. I cannot undo Allah as I do. He exists in every single cell of my being. He is my entirety. I am a drop and he is the sea of which secrets are. It is undermining to Allah to imagine he refuses people because of the path they walk to him. If anyone desires a religion other than Islam never will it be accepted by him of him and in the hereafter he will be in the ranks of the loose. Muhammad may peace be upon him had to be extreme in that moment he was building his religion. Oh holy Quran we are talking about God's word. What are you saying prince? Careful now. Are you proposing that the Quran is not the word of God? I propose no such thing. You imply that it was subject to the will of man to Muhammad's may peace be upon him fluctuations inferring that the Quran itself has mutability. Of course the Quran is word of God because it comes from that place which is the heart of the world but as a document it is also bound by the specifics of the time and place from whence it sprang. The Arab desert is not a mobile city the Quran is a text that will last forever serving us all to the end of life but Allah works in mysterious ways. He is living in his he is lively in his endeavors to touch us. He shifts and he reaches through time across latitudes reshaping his teachings sculpting it according to our needs. If we do not accept other faiths we destroy the foundation of religion itself. They are the different pigments used by a divine painter which means that whatsoever we are if we are still enough or curious enough we come to know Allah. There is stillness to sample the gamut of religions like a being in the Sprint. Prosecutor at the center of every blossom is honey. The rest frankly is ritual. Sign the Rome that sentence sprints are. It was signed before I stepped into your prosecutor. Moving on from your take it or leave relationship with the Quran. That is entirely unfair. Do you not agree prosecutor in paradise surely you would hope not to be told how to live by others. Can you admit in court that you have no respect for the religious men of Islam. Point to me which one and I'll tell you. Don't be flattered with your friends. You agree with none. Who said the causes forgive me your honor. This is not my sentiment. Who sit in court and minister in justice. Commit injustice if their palms are not green. Men are corruptible. Why should religious scholars be different. Guru Nanak was merely commenting on the ones who did not practice what they preach. You very comfortably call that man a guru when the Muslim faith does not concede to such a notion. It is difficult to grasp this world. Don't you agree prosecutor. Even after Muhammad God's final continued to send help and that guru Nanak was one such helper. May I remind your honor that Nanak was asleep. I know who Nanak was. I'm not asleep here. Do you dispense of the five daily prayers from start. I never used to say foolish. Do you skip Ramadan. Prayer and fasting are water and air to me. Along with charity these three prayers. But what lies beneath these structures is the crucial thing. Thank you so much for correcting my misconception. The pillars are a surplus to a requirement. Why did the prophet maybe speak upon him pray. I didn't mean to trivialize our desire to reach God. We grapple our passions through prayer hopelessness fear hatred feeling well that's all we have. Prayers turn the tide allow us to appreciate others. But it is not more important than life itself. Muhammad may peace be upon him was the first to say go out give service piety of the heart trumps prayer and if we are sick or cooking man or woman we should not haul ourselves from our beds or kitchens to pray. Yet he never missed a prayer. How do you know when a woman came to him saying her husband had become so pious he spent all night at the mosque. What did Muhammad may peace be upon him do? He sent the man home telling him to spend time with his family and wife. Maybe once, twice the prophet may peace be upon him was exhausted or calming the crying child and without it being recorded omitted to pray. That's for me. Order! It's unorthodox to include female heckling but in this instance I must concur. You're thinking is narrow I think you're pardoned. Forgive me. Go on, tell us what you're reading. You take these religious tenancies if they were sticks to beat us. Yet our prophet may peace be upon him. He could not be responsive to the circumstances which encircled him. Yet you yet we have seized upon every one of his words as relayed by other mutable men as immovable truths frozen. We know not, we know from our own lives that as soon as we seize on something as fact it ossifies, then becomes alien because time changes everything babies become adults water becomes desert hatred softens. Namak is a valuable guy because he thinks for himself whereas the mullahs not at all. I don't mean all. Follow the words of God as relayed by his prophet peace be upon him then record it and pass down in the soon as and had it with their different opinions and interpretations as if it were law. It is law. It was not offered up as such. I'll ask you for the second time Prince do you deny that the Quran is God's word? I do not prosecutor. It is the ultimate gift from God but the mullahs use its words like weapons to chastise, berate and murder which is not what they were intended for. Tell us oh wise one what you think they were intended for. I'm afraid from sarcasm in my court prosecutor forgive me your honor. You're a Muslim you tell us why we were given the Quran. Am I untrodden here? Is my relationship found wanting with my religion? Unfortunately not prosecutor. Order! Order in court. It is not appropriate for the witness to speak to the prosecutor in this way. I am also the counsel for the defense your honor. Yes. Yes. Yes. But not yet. Not in the same moment. Return to your questions prosecutor. What is the purpose of Islam? To realize the best in ourselves. Yet that best can be found in any old dargah or temple and none of this is a very animal bound. If we judge others by whether they bury or burn their dead then religion has not worked. I put to the court that the accused Prince Dara flagrantly betrays the very first pillar of Islam. There is no God but God and Muhammad is his messenger. In which way did I betray it? I know this with all my being it is my search for purpose. There is one God. All paths lead him, lead to him and the prophet Muhammad may peace be upon him was his greatest messenger. You see how he added greatest your honor. Did you hear? I did. How can you argue with it? We are not told that he is God's only messenger. There were 124,000 messengers before Muhammad may peace be upon him. What about Jesus and Abraham? Show the court your hands. My hands! I would like to share with the court the writing on the inside of Prince Dara's ring. Take the jewelry out. Pass it to the cause. Tell us about the inscription on the inside. It says God. Does it? G-O-D. In an Arabic. And in Sanskrit. The Sanskrit word being G-O-D. Here are the accused. Where is this ring? Not yet. But something he had commissioned himself. With the cover on Hindu word for master. Inscribed on it. Also, Allah, how magnanimous of you. Do you also have Allah carved into your cross, Prince Dara? The Christian cross you wear all times around your neck? Prince Dara, it is unpalitably clear that proceedings exactly as I predicted that you strayed long, long ago from the pure path of Islam. Fact after fact. Piece of evidence. After piece of evidence. I hereby propose Dara Shikho that this court finds you unequivocally an apostate of Islam. Leave the pronouncements to me whether you are a prosecutor. You are wrong, prosecutor. He's right. Islam is the only path I walk. I just don't reject others. Prosecutor opens a book and reads. What shall I do? I know not what I am. I am neither Christian nor Jew, nor heathen, nor Muslim. Prosecutor closes the book. Where's the rest of the poem? That's not the end of the poem. Thank you, prosecutor. If you have finished. I call upon Prince Dara Shikho as counsel for the defense. Your Honor, I would like to be the Prince's defense. I beg your pardon, but are you his son? I will defend himself properly. Your Honor, he is too honest. You cannot change the counsel for the defense in the middle of proceedings. No, I... I don't believe I can... Here is the prisoner! Thank you, Russia, for your contribution. I understand you are a prisoner. So is my father, but he is defending himself. There is a knocking from behind the marble screen. I think you had better get on with the proceedings, Your Honor. Thank you, prosecutor. I shall not be hiding in my own court. If my father is to be run through by his own sword at the very least complete the verse that should be read. I understand your request, Prince B. It's too late. I finished my question. But please remain seated and do not interrupt again. Bring the Prince forward. I was brought forward still in feathers. State the name of the accused. Prince Dara Shikho. See what I mean about an empty trial. Counsel for the defense. Would you like to start by writing the remainder of your poem as part of your testimony? I thank you, Kazi. Though I fear we are beyond that. Say it, father. Silence in court. If my poem places me here, I am in brilliant company. Islam's most revered poets would be in the dock. Rumi, Igni, Abbey. Speak the rest. Stop! The boy from crying out! Sit here. Proceed. With respect, Your Honor. This whole trial is meaningless. You and I are both pawns. This is between my brother and myself. A boy who, aged 15, stood his ground in front of an arranging elephant without so much as flinching. I have underestimated him and I fear I am lost. Can you hear me? Arise. The Emperor is not present. Oh, but he is. The court whispers a ripple of energy running through them out of the proceedings taking this unprecedented turn. Quiet and down in court. Your defense, please. I know you are concealed, keeping with our sisters and the other women. I feel your eyes on me. The Prophet may peace be upon him. Never dreamed women would end up obscure behind screens beneath veils. His wives needed privacy. Their home was filled with so many people. Commensurate with this situation, he suggested that he job. Is this relevant to the case? Maybe, maybe not. But for better or worse, I am my own counsel. I am trying to illustrate how the Prophet's circumstances, peace be upon him, are not ours. You see, Arendt Zeb, all it was was that others wanted to emulate his wives. And why wouldn't they? Aisha, Zaynab, Sophia were the veil made others feel like the chosen ones. So the hijab was born. It became a tradition evolved through necessity. Not God's thoughts. Certainly not his instructions. And Arendt Zeb, some of these traditions you take as truths are stifling. Apostasy! And what's more, brother, I'm hated you for it. My heart has struggled to love you as you have to love me. But Allah is life. I have to stop you. This is not some gathering of whirling dervishes. We were dervishes. We would whirl ourselves out of our heads and into our hearts, rendering these proceedings utterly redundant. The counsel is meandering. I cannot see. Do you remember the tiger and the goat, Arendt Zeb? Arendt Zeb. I must stop you, that counsel. You are strained from the point. This is the seat to let me finish. Arendt Zeb. Proceed. Though if you think the answer is listening to you, you are abused. You would not miss it for the world. Arendt Zeb, remember how fascinated grandfather was with animals? What he loved most in this world was alcohol and creatures. He hunted, he painted and devoured them. So when he heard about the goat living with the tiger in a cage, do you remember? He was captivated and he had moved. We all watched the tiger become this consulate pacing the cage, growing and anguished. Then Jahanjir had another goat brought in of a similar size and shape. The tiger approached the new goat, sniffed her, promptly broke her neck, remember? We saw the broken goat being carried out like a rag. Then Jahanjir put in a sheet which lasted minutes before being killed and consumed. Then finally, the first goat was brought back in. Do you remember what happened? The tiger rolled over exposing its belly. The goat climbed on him and let him lick its face till it shone. When we were boys do you think the tiger was weak and the goat divine? Or do you swell with gratitude knowing that in this world against the odds were tigers who loved goats and goats who loved tigers? You knew what it was. You understood how it was for love to transcend boundaries. They were shuffling from behind the screen like the elephant and the blind man where one finds a trunk, one an eater, the other a leg so they conclude that each encountered an entirely different beast that their blindness made the elephant not an elephant, a rungsub. Love exists. Possibility exists. Harmony exists and if it weren't blind, we would see it. You and I, a rungsub as Rumi says are like boats dashing together, our eyes darkened yet we are in clear water. It is unnecessary. Love is possible. Brother, all I ask is that you show mercy to my sons. There is a knock on the screen. Close proceedings. That's enough from the council now. Take the accused back. A rungsub, I shouldn't have thought. I didn't want to. Daria is put back in his hand fetters. Can you forgive me, brother? In the twenty mentions of a apostasy in the Quran not one prescribes the death penalty. Which Quran do you read? The hadiths do, but they are not the Quran. Was Abdullah a prophet? That's enough now. How did these hadiths grow more powerful than Allah? They were men, a rungsub. Please, not gods. Gods, plural, your honor. Do you hear that? Allah deals with apostasy in the next world. You can be rest assured that if I were an apostate, I would be dealt with in the hereafter. But I am there is no God. But Allah and Muhammad was his messenger. It's not our stop now. Enough. Father, if you kill me, brother, I forgive you. But I ask you with all my heart do not murder my... Sit here, our stance trying to reach out to his father. He's dragged back. There is a clattering as a rungsub vacates his position behind the screens. Dar attracts his force. A rungsub emerges. The room here, today, finds Prince Darashiko guilty of the accused of apostasy and as such is sentenced to death. But you can save me, brother. We'll know if brothers face each other eye to eye before our rungsub leaves the courtroom in the bay. Four, scene one. The past, 1659. Dar comes to Adarda where music is in full swing to see famous Sufi, Myanmar. Dar is young and arrogant. Once Myanmar's blessing Dar is insulted at being laughed at and needs only to come back again. This time, he gets Myanmar's blessing and is truly touched. Four, scene two. The past. Hereby whom we have only seen of glimpses of before is young and real. She teases rungsub. She throws herself on the floor in a dead fate. Adarda. Who is it? I'm not talking to you. She hums, breaking into full singing while she mimes herself stretching up to pluck a mango off the tree. Still singing the laughter threatens to break through. She mimes orings that have seen me as obstructed by lightning, then collapsing to the ground. He comes and tickles her. Don't! You are wicked, Jim Stoll, my sense. Do you only love me because you've lost your mind? Who says I love you? You didn't faint when you first saw me? I tripped and fell. Oh, it was the glare of the sun, the exhausting walk around your haunt's garden that turned your legs to suit. I swooned at your hideousness. You should have paid me, thank you. She jumps on him now. They are physical and playful with one another. A horrible Hindu girl like me. With your dry hair and mean eyes. Better not look then. Just taste. They kiss, her hands covering his eyes. Can you hear the blood thundering in my veins? Forget everything what I'm making. Do you know what else you make? What else will make you forget? Let's drink some wine. Let's try a sip, just one. She gets some wine. What are you doing? Why are you doing this? She offers him the goblet. Here, I would do anything for you. Taste some wine. How does drinking wine prove my love? Because you detest it so. I've never tasted alcohol in my life. Why don't you taste it now? You leave me further and further for myself. Get it? Okay, that makes the goblet and goes to drink from it. That's not the wrong step. I wanted to test your love, my love. Not corrupt you with unlucky liquor. You don't need to test me. I don't want to be anywhere but with you. Then stay. Stay always. I can't meet you from yourself. You are too strong for that. My sober, sweetheart. I come from a long line of inebrates. Your father? My grandfather. Father quelled it himself. I'm marrying my mother. He emptied his entire wine cellar in the river. The wine is not the only thing he pours away. What would you be like as I'm for her? It would never happen. Okay, imagine it does. Like a mosque, ordered safe for place for everything? Boring. He tickles her again. Most of your empire is Hindu. They choose Islam. Eventually. It's power, it's purity. They want that security. You're not so serene with me. That's because you here are my greatest jihad. What's a jihad? A struggle with the lower sun. You're like two animals that should really be together. What am I? A snake? You're a tiger. And you are... A goat. You became Muslim here. It would make me sad. My family is Hindu. It's who I am. You and my old, consuming, rouging sport. Act four, scene three. The past. Young Dara in his twenties and Shah Jahan in his prime are in the middle of a heated debate. Being a prince is what you are born to be. Why would a drop become a pearl when it could be part of the ocean? What are you saying, son? Our spiritual search is what we are born to follow. Why are we so privileged? I cannot live with it. We have obligations beyond other people's wildest dreams. Huge weights of responsibility. A percentage of how we live apart. I'm going to be forcior. I don't want to be draped in pearls the size of pigeon eggs. These are my prayer beads. I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about me. Father, all I want is to be close to Allah. You are my crown prince. You have other sons. How do you ignore the fact that the prophet used to be upon him slept on the floor. The Islamic rulers sit on bread and thrones. The Sufis stay true to him. They give everything away. But when I give the shirt off my back to a man who needs it before I know it, another one grows on me with golden threads embedded with jewels. I'm not allowed to reduce myself to nothing. You are shrewd, brave and compassionate. You are perfect. Father, I lack the appetite for it. Sufi, Sufi, love, emperors, kill. Not always. Not all of them. Not you, Dara. Because I can see how you would rule. You know how to. You know it. Part of me wants it. But so, so much of me questions it, Father. I don't think an emperor is who I am. Tell me. Tell me your vision. What do you dream of? I long to be that one with my universe. So, unify him, being a fakir is not an option. We shall not speak of this again. But, Father, my heart is mine. I am your father. You are a branch of my tree to prune, nurture or amputate as I decree. The past. Marzani is very sick with consumption. She is too weak to wash. Oranzeb talks her through wudu as if they are doing it together. Every project, major or small, we think of God, Bismillah. Bismillah. Hands. He sponges her hands. Swish and spit. Three times. Nose. You don't have to do the nose today. Spread your hands ear to ear. Hair line to chin. Three times. He bathes her face so gently. She collapses. Hira. She doesn't respond. He tries to arouse her. God wouldn't give you to me in order to take you away. He would have made me far, far stronger than I am or I will break. Hira. All my child looked around my marriages on the road with my soldiers. You're the only person who liked me honestly without effort. I was alone until I met you. Hira. Hira, speak. Is it the angel of death? Act 4, scene 5. 1659. Dara is in his prison cell. Dara and Sibihir await news of the trial. You should have said the rest of the poem. Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Sibihir. It spoke against you out of context. Your love was what was wrong. I tried, Sibihir. I know. I saw you struggling with your prayers. You must pray some. Today I couldn't. What do you mean you couldn't? I just couldn't. What's wrong? Father, let's not argue. Whatever happens in your life, you cannot dismiss Salat. They could come for you before dawn. Your mother wouldn't like us to argue, would she? God makes us no promises, nor does he expect much in return. When they ask, the Prophet, peace be upon him, which was the best part of Islam? Do you know what he answered? I think so. To offer food and say salam to those you know and those you don't. That is all he really asks. I worry sometimes that I don't know God. Offer him food. Say hello. What's Sibihir, whether we admit it or not, Allah knows. Sibihir, a sight-star, has pulled me to him. What shall I do? I know not what I am. I am neither Christian, nor Jew, nor heathen, nor Muslim. We shouldn't be afraid of asking questions. I am neither of the east, nor of the west, neither of the earth, nor of the ocean. Nature's mint, and I am not, nor the all-encompassing skies. I am not composed of earth, water or fire. I am neither the dead clay, nor the illuminating brilliance. I am not from this world, nor from that, nor from heaven, nor from hell. I am neither my body, nor even myself, for I am from my Lord self. Only him I search. Only him I know. Only him I see. And only him I call. He is the beginning and the end. He is within. And he is beyond. Sibihir. Yes, Baba. Tonight would you call me Baba? Act 4, scene 6. 1659, Red Fort Deli. It is the evening after Dara's trial. Lamp shine behind, water refracting the light. Loud music plays. Bishonara hosts a party. She forces one of her male servants to dance. Dance with me Akkar! Dance! Itfar holding a box comes in with Aronson. What are you doing, Roshanar? Stop your racket! Stop playing. A prince of the empire has been found guilty of apostasy, Roshanar. It's not an occasion for dancing or singing. We're celebrating! You are a bloodthirsty count. Make sure they don't start again. Ever. That's an instruction throughout the city. No more music. Burn the instruments, do as I say. People think that we were given our lives to fritter them away. I am an earnest. Burn down the drum room. Sack the drummers. Burn the drum. I will not stir my head! All the dancing girls must get themselves a husband before Friday or they will be thrown in the river. The decision's out. The choice is cause and or throw, brother. Not live in a coffin while all of them are thrown. Your bloodlust disgusts me. Enough to go right now, liberate our brother. But I'm waiting! He goes. Should I spare him, ita? How can I advise, Sire? How can anyone? Prince Dara is your brother. But my experience of family is limited. I was separated from mine at a young age. Something is on your mind, speak. But for one, if I may, Sire, the musicians, their families have been artists in this country for hundreds of years. But India belongs to us now. Of course. To Allah. Read me the letter. Son, accept my gift of fruit with my greatest respect. Not affection. I take responsibility for this war of succession. I acknowledge my failings as a father and urge you to accept your own apologies. I must ask you now, Arun Zeb, with the wisdom of hindsight over the actions I myself took to spare Dara's life. There we have it. About to force allies loyal to Dara to desist from any adventure. Give him a house, a handful of servants. Let him live. Prepare to sacrifice his own dignity. Bleed him Dara's cause as ever. I want no more of these letters. Stop his ink and paper supply. I don't want much he needs. Forgive me for interrupting your majesty. What is it? Two visitors just arrived. My foot, they walked all the way up especially to ask for idbar. Are you expecting anybody? No, Sire. It is definitely you they want. Bring them in. No, that is not necessary, Sire. I prize you a fidelity to give them. I didn't know you had friends beyond the palace rules. What? Emon returned to that impoverished elderly couple. They bowed deeply. State the purpose of your visit. Is that really you? I do not know this lady, Sire. Standing with the Emperor. Nor this gentleman. I am your mother. We are your parents at far. Bring tea. Bring to our relatives. We hoped you had a chance, but look how you've turned out. I last saw you when I was 11. I know, son. I never forgot. Take him for the last words I heard you say. The son you must understand as a Jewish. How dare you come to my place of work parading the scraps of your love? The scene has drawn others to the hall. Rashanara Lloyder is captured by the unfolding scene. We are not here for money, son. You sold me the slavery. My new owners fed me opium and cut off my genitals. Son, please. I'm sorry. Do I embarrass you? Pressed a rag, soaked in boiled oil on my wounds, covered the rag in earth, and put me to bed for 40 days. I can't bear to listen to this. Two out of 12 of us survived from that batch, went on to imperial careers, no matter that I cannot expel urine by command or like a woman, my apologies. If they named me as they named the other slaves, I would not be un-scented or fat pretty one, but half a man. You come now wanting recompense, having poisoned the roots of my life. Imad, Imad, where is Imad? Take these two to the weaving post. Tell the boys 20 lashes each. No, Imad. You cannot whip your mother, but I'll take them. I will give you the rupees I earned from selling the dung from my elephants. Nothing more. And if you ever come near me again, you're a born and out, bro. This way. Mershawna, I take the parents off. Excuse me, sir. Itbar leaves. Narangsev looks searching the after him, then picks up the box his father sent. Four, scene seven. 1659 Dar Sel. Itbar appears at the door with a prison guard and another man. The prison warden who's sane comes up behind the guard. What's happening? None of your business. Itbar isn't you. Good evening, Master Sipihir. Prince, isn't that bad that I have lost my name? Itbar, I'm afraid so, sir. No brother leave a brief. The other man comes forward as he is the executioner. He expertly bundles the hood over Dar's head. Sipir fights, so does Dar. Give me a sword. Tax the executioner with his bare hands. Itbar holds him back. Show me the way, my prophets and saints. Lord God Allah. He will burn in the fires of hell all of you. The emperor does not want to know where the body is buried. An unmarked grave. Understood? Yes, sir. The executioner unsheets a massive sword. Baba. The ghost of Hirabai sings. Shah Jahan and Jahan Raab are in their prison quarters. It is dawn. They have been up all night. Itbar arrives with a large box. The same one Shah Jahan sent to Aurangzeb. You're back. What news? I have a parcel from the emperor. Baba, did you hear? Aurangzeb has sent us something. A gift? My letter worked. He has sent it. Has the Itbar? It's Dar al-Fei. Is there a letter with it? No. It's heavy. He tries lifting the box. Itbar? I think it's watermelon. From Afghanistan, maybe. Or Iran. It's too heavy for mangoes. Is there no letter? Do you remember how I used to call Dar al-Fei and watermelon? I can't see a thing, Jahanara. She looks in the box. Take your hands up, Baba. What's wrong, Jahanara? Shah Jahan opens the box again and peers in his head right in the box. Oh, God. Oh, God, forgive him. Forgive him. Afiya runs in. Itbar, what did you do? What did you bring them? Don't shake me off. What have you done? I let you down, Afiya. You know the poem in the water garden? On the wall? Afiya? If there be paradise on earth, it is this. It's this. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere. I can't, Afiya. They need you. Go. I'll wait. Promise. She goes back to Jahanara and Shah Jahan. Itbar unweights the scarf from around his jacket, makes it into a noose. He searches above his head for something to hang it on. Afiya sings. Act five, scene one. A week later, the call to prayer sounds bold and beautiful. Aurangzeb returns from Friday prayers at the Big Mosque in his direction. The five prayers sits on the steps. Move the faqir off. Get along there. The emperor is coming. That's why I'm here. You were denuded if you think you would converse with a half-naked heathen. Are you so dense as to not yet understand that we are brothers? We are carved from the same wood, you and I. Your religion bears no relation to mine. Sufism is the kernel of Islam. The inner Islam. You cannot shake a brother off however you'd like to. Siblings are siblings. The mullah gives this stick to him out for him to use it on the faqir. Kid, why don't you, religious man? I know this character. Emperor, meet again. Your self-loathing is as acute as it was on the first day of our acquaintance. I should have let your father take my life that day instead of playing my part in who you've become. How dare you place your unclothed body in the foot of this moss? Cover yourself up. Do you think you can obscure yourself beneath these clothes? Public nudity breaks the law. Better tell babies to be born fully dressed than in prayer. Take him to the floor. Put him in the dungeons. You have to get out of our vences. And yet you speak our transcendent words five times a day. Careful with that blanket. It's covering your nakedness. Imad lifts the faqir's blanket up. Aurangzeb immediately stumbles. Imad drops it again. I see you see them, Aurangzeb. Some already gone. Some to come. As faqir speaks, ghosts from Aurangzeb's past are released. And clustered to haunt him. Some we know, some we don't. Baby brother, poisoned and imprisoned. Itbaw, who saw you foul with the task you set him, kept out of paradise by Allah. As we are told in the Quran, every suicide burns in hell's fire forever. You're left here. Still in your dungeons, but you know that young man's fate already helped you. Your brother, Dara, whose head you sent in a box. Prepare a case of apostasy against him. Apostasy? Am I to be killed as a non-believer? I see through it. Whatever disguise you take Allah, my love, I recognize you still. He has hauled off. We must clean this city up. We will not sit exposed on the master's steps. We will purge this empire of its vices. Stand up the liquor sellers. Cut off their hands and feet if they don't stop selling within a month. Tell the imperial gardeners to plant no more roses. Bad news is, cotton, all the cotton. All those dargahs, banned women from going inside. We must tax all non-Muslims. We will force conversions. You cannot lead if you cannot kill. I am Allah's servant and nothing will stand in the way of my humble loving design. It is 1707. The ghosts are gathered by the flock of birds hovering close to Aurangzeb. The Fakir has joined them. Kira is there. Aurangzeb ages in front of us. He is 89 years old. He is sick, his back bent. Kham, Aurangzeb's youngest son and Azan, his spirited third son appear in his tent. My father, fighting fit. I need your agreement, boys. You won't leave this place until I have. Of course, father. Azan. I'm your servant, father. You, Azan, I need you to go to Bijapur. Bijapur? And Kham, you must go to Malawah. You'll go straight away tonight. Understood, Malawah. Complain if you will. You'll be there in two weeks. I've just been told to travel hundreds of miles. Tell me, Azan. You've given your word. I can't pretend that I don't regret it now. It is better this way. Better than what? Your tongue is sharp, Azan. And your thoughts are sharper. Hear me clearly. I do not want to see either of you again. Make your men make a sound like... Then who will rule after you, father? Kham draws his sword at the audacity of his men. No, no, no. Put your sword away. I will not have fighting at my bent side. Brother pitched against brother. It's ungodly. Keep distance between you. I need your word. The art of reigning is so delicate that a king's jealousy can be aroused by a brother or even a shadow. Who is your shadow? I will not be drawn, Azan. Then I will leave you to your favorites. I have a colossal journey ahead. Azan bows deeply, kissing his father's hand. Goodbye, brother. Till we meet again. Insha'Allah. I have not the least liking for this deceitful, weary world. God bless patience, father. And you are its embodiment. You have always told me patience is the shield where Allah writes victory in invisible ink. My doggedness has not tamed the Marathas. Are they timble? The empire is suffering. She has become unwieldy, our Hindu stomach. I strayed far from my seat of power. Money is spent on the wrong things. Do you know? I owe some of my soldiers 14 months' wages. I may as well build multi-leal. Even the men of Mecca expect bribes these days because I bribed them once, twice. I thought I'd bribe to do these things. I misread Allah's son. Of course you didn't. If you had a curse, you would find 305 rupees from the proceeds of the caps I crochet and sell. Use this, not state money Just wander without fuss, my head bear. And never distribute whatever is left of my rupees to the Fakirs. But you hate the Fakirs? Hatred softens. We come with nothing in this world but I go with a whole caravan of sins. What is it all for, calm? Do we live merely to consume a quantity of water and fodder and rule enormous empire I find no release from labor. You are the champion of Islam in Hindustan father. Come, after me comes chaos. Seventeen princes of eligible age. Am I lovable? Are you able to love me? Calm meals and presses his head against his father's hand. You look just as idle as a boy. I swore that when I became a father I would not have a favorite. Get out now, boy. Leave me. Leave. Leave. Leave. Here, Abay, sing softly to Anza. Well, I was kind when he let me you, you know. I must have pleased him at one time. But then he took you. Would you do something for me here, Abay? Would you speak to Dara from me and I want you to ask him. I want you to ask him to succeed for me with Allah and thirsty. I'm so thirsty. He looks into the light. Dara, as you said we were boats dashing together. My dark eyes did not see your light. Whatever the wind, brother I am launching my boat on these waters. The end. The spirit of Marvin and Oskar who will come for a short discussion. Congratulations. Thank you everybody and thank you, Shai and Oskar for a wonderful experience really deeply moving. It's hard nowhere to begin the well, let me just begin with my first impression when I came in before the treaty had even started. The first thing I struck was how many people there are here. The it is it's really a it's wonderful to see a historical play with the kind of richness in character that this has and this is something that Oskar knows as well as anyone is very hard to do in the dramatic world today. It's a bold thing to do. It may be that it's somewhat easy. I'm just really talking about the imagination and the scope of the play. This is the kind of thing that on the whole American authors do not do now. Both the range and the scope of it and alas the political engagement of it that is it seems to me that you've created a kind of a kind of character now that really has a kind of Shakespearean feel about him. The kind of drive the arc of his career and the