Theatre has always provided me with a vehicle to convey a powerful message: even the monologue of my life.
(In this One Act play, the protagonist’s recurring and troublesome thoughts are being narrated backstage while he stands on a ledge.)
My mind wandered, flitting back and forth, as I crept to the end of the ledge. I was ready to jump. There was an eerie silence that consumed me as if the world were holding its breath. Then there was the sound of the blood rushing to my ears as my heart scurried to match the pace of my thoughts. Were they watching? I began to take the final step…but then started to have second thoughts.
What had driven me, quite literally, to the edge? This is a story of the personal consequences of the uneasy marriage between noble intentions and harsh realities in a misunderstood country.
I was coming back from school and was observing the beggars supplicating for alms on the side of the streets, the corrupt traffic policeman biding his time in the scorching summer heat and the cart-masters mercilessly beating their donkeys. Quite suddenly my attention was diverted to a man (the owner of a BMW) callously and brutally thrashing a poor thirteen-year-old boy. The teenager was being flogged for a traffic violation which was actually the aggressor’s own fault. Punch after punch. The boy was on the ground now. His cries turned into screams, his teardrops into drops of blood. I wanted to stop my car to end the beating. I wanted to say,” Aap reham karein!” (Have mercy, man!) THREE words and I could have stopped a horrific thrashing, but I chose not to interfere. I let the unfortunate boy suffer for a crime of which he was both oblivious and innocent.
(Monologue continues.)
Ever since the incident, I have begun to contemplate Pakistan’s prospects and my role in it. Coming from a political family, did I not have any obligations? I had lived in a world of theatre. Acting had taught me how to walk in another’s shoes, and to feel what others felt. My complacency had created a void in me which continually increased as I understood the source of my guilt; I had failed to be simply human.
Soon after, I began an internship at San Jog an international NGO which helps sexually abused children/prisoners; it helped turn my complacency into assertiveness and action. I remembered this ten year-old juvenile delinquent who had been wrongly convicted of rape. I stared into his helpless eyes. My few kind words of sympathy and promise of assistance brought a faint smile to his sad face. A box of my old clothes brought joy to his eyes. The void felt less empty, and my conditioned callousness softened.
From the ledge, I looked down below. That boy who had been unfairly beaten and the one who had been wrongly accused were amongst thousands going through oppression and injustice in my country. I needed to help mend their plights and stop their pain.
Three words could have saved him! Three!
It was time now. I plunged to my apparent “doom” and hit the mattress with a soft thud.
(The lights turn off and the audience applauds.)
As I take my final bow, I finally know what I’m meant to do.
SAIHAAM AHMED KHAN
Lahore
