All he knew about India was that it was a strange and mystic land, far into the East. He had heard tales about snake charmers and saints, inhabiting a land rich in culture and resources, from travellers who had visited the exotic country.
It was no surprise that the sight that met Shakespeare when he landed in India left him speechless. His knowledge was more than four hundred years old.
“Oh! Whither have all the elephants and snake charmers gone to?! Perhaps they are all rehearsing for a performance.” he exclaimed.
Around him he saw row upon row of strange contraptions with four wheels. They were all emitting some strange smell that made him cough.
Now where should he go? He saw a sign saying, “Shakespeare festival – Catch the last Act and Epilogue of The Tempest at Sirifort Auditorium today at 6 pm”.
With some help from people (who indeed gave him some curious looks) he made his way to the auditorium.
“Hey! Are you the guy the agency sent as a replacement for Prospero? Why are you so late! You were told to report here in the morning. I see you got your costume. Are you sure this is the right costume?! Well, ok. Go to the green room and get your make up on! The play goes live in 5 minutes!” a short, bald guy fired off one question after another to him as soon as he entered back stage.
“Make up?! Sir, thou art mistaken. I am Shakespeare.” He explained patiently. He was now getting used to be mistaken for someone else.
“And I am God! I don’t understand your agency-wallahs (agency guys). First they tell me I can’t get Miranda, because she has a shoot for some commercial. And then Ferdinand had to take a break because he is too stressed. They send replacements who cannot say a single line without prompts. And now they send you to play Prospero!”
Shakespeare was now at the edge of his patience.
“Good Sir, I do not know who shot Miranda. I also do not know what Ferdinand broke. But I am telling you, I am Shakespeare. I will prove it to you!” he thundered.
So saying, he walked on to stage, to the centre and…
Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint: now, ’tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon’d be,
Let your indulgence set me free .
There was pin-drop silence in the auditorium. Shakespeare was surprised. The final soliloquy had always earned him a standing ovation.
He shook his head and walked off the stage. The man who had spoken to him earlier was red in the face with anger.
Shakespeare sighed. It was better to stay in the grave with memories of happier days. He closed his eyes and was back in the churchyard.
(Image credit: Google Images)
[…] Macbeth, Othello and King Lear. His works have been adapted time and again, rediscovering the many facets of the works by the maestro. They have become the subject of perpetual studies and constant reinterpretations across the […]