RAM

The Abduction of Sita into Darkness

Yaël Farber

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781840029888
• eBook ISBN: 9781849436731
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

A riveting new stage adaptation from award-winning writer and director Yael Farber. In this new publication, Farber (inspired by contemporary retellings) adapts the ancient tale of The Ramayana, attributed to the Hindu sage Valmiki. The original Ramayana forms a significant part of the Hindu canon, dating to approximately the 5th-4th century BC – with the oldest surviving manuscripts from the 11th century BC. Farber's potent revisioning of this age-old text is a raw and probing contemporary work which places the loss of the Feminine Divine, and thus our lack of spiritual and moral equilibrium, at its visceral core. This is a Ramayana for a new world.

1: Essence

I.

(RAMA is kneeling at the water, cleaning his hands. He looks up to find SITA watching him.)

RAMA: Blood.

(She just looks at him.)

It gets in the nails…

(He looks away.)

SITA: Whose blood is it on your hands?

(RAMA looks at her sharply.)

RAMA: Those with blood on theirs.

SITA: Did their deaths heal what they harmed?

RAMA: No. (Jaw clenched.) But they will not harm again.

SITA: Then why, my lord, are you so sad?

(RAMA is quiet, he looks up to search her face.)

RAMA: Where I’m from, life grows steadily, inevitably as trees.
No one dies in Ayhoda who is not yet old.

SITA: Peaceful Ayhoda is all you have known?

RAMA: (Nodding.) It is my first time beyond the gates. I have seen things since that cannot be put into words. Mothers, children – used and buried, though not yet dead. The ground was still moving when we found them. All we could do… (He cannot go on.)

SITA: (Nodding.) The work of Ravana of Lanka’s legions.

RAMA: (Grimly.) Blood does not wash easily, but I am happy for these stains.
I feel – perhaps for the first time – awake.

SITA: (Smiling gently.) Or have you just fallen into the slumber of duality from which few of us ever wake?

(RAMA nods, understanding her. The VALMIKIS exhale. RAMA puts his head down, overcome with grief. He covers his face. SITA goes to him, takes his hands, washes them, kisses each finger and then gently kisses each eye – including the third.)

SITA: (Indicating her city over her shoulder.) In Mathila too, they believe the world ends at the city gate. It is my daily practice since I was a child – to rise before dawn, and crawl the tunnel I made under the wall. I wake in a fever every morning and must wander into the wild – to see the truth for myself.

RAMA: Out here alone? What does your father say?

SITA: He does not know.

(He looks at her for a long moment.)

RAMA: Who are you, soul?

SITA: (Smiling.) No one knows to whom I was borne. But I am the foundling of Janaka of Mathila. They call me Sita in this lifetime, my Lord.

RAMA: Are you promised?

SITA: Only to the mortal man who can string Siva’s bow. (She laughs gently at the absurdity of this.) And so I am promised to no one at all!

(She smiles. He does not.)

RAMA: Show me this bow.

II.

(VALMIKI 1 moves around the SITA-BODY, singing of marriage. She begins to paint the naked flesh with intricate henna markings. VALMIKI 2 wraps SITA in the sari of a bride.)

SITA: Let us not sing yet of loss. Let us sing of how you found me, as you have in every lifetime… And once again brought me home.

(RAMA lays himself over the SITA-BODY, now animated with life, and pulls it into the embrace of their first wedding night. SITA watches from nearby.)

VALMIKI 2: The opening to the female body is but a portal to the great mystery of entering this fires of this realm; A gateway only accessible through Her form. The inevitable longing to possess her, is dark ego rising. That first longing for what can never truly be owned… Is the start of the sacred fall.

(She turns the SITA-BODY over, wipes the blood from between her legs and resumes painting her body. VALMIKI 1 removes the fabric covering her face and assumes the role of KAUSALYA – RAMA’s mother. She gathers the naked, sleeping RAMA in her arms like a child.)

KAUSALYA: Much is written of a mother’s love. What more need be said of the 9 moons I carried the blue one in my waters, before he passed through the static and into this world?

Childless in middle age, my husband performed a yagna begging that one of his three wives be blessed with a son.

(Lights rise on DASARATHA, with arms outstretched. He lets handfuls of dry, dusty rice pour between his fingers and scatter, smoking on the floor.)

The Gods answered with not one son from us – but four.

(The pipes of the scaffolding drip and form pools. The scaffolding’s plastic coverings tremor and billow.)

History tells that when I bore Rama late into the night – I made no sound for “there was no pain”. But his story too, was written by men. Too well I recall the white heat, as my body tore open. A woman can smile as she is drowning, no? (A shower of petals from the skies.) The future of Yuvaraja passed between my legs, as Rama – Dasaratha’s first and most beloved son – was born.

III.

(DASARATHA, a powerful and aging man, holds KAUSALYA in a sensuous embrace. Her long dark hair hangs over her naked back.)

DASARATHA: (Confiding in her.) They say I love him too much.

KAUSALYA: Loving a child is constant preparation in grief.

DASARATHA: Do I love our son too much? What do you say?

KAUSALYA: Everything is Brahman, my Lord. Love him more – love him less. Someday, he too will be gone. (To audience.) Many years ago – my hair was still black… And my opinion still asked for.

VALMIKI 2: Many years ago – our hair was once black…
And our opinions still asked for.

(VALMIKI 2 holds KAUSALYA’s hair at the roots and pulls her fingers through it leaving the hair streaked with white. DASARATHA disappears from behind her, leaving her alone. She slips her robe over her shoulders and covers herself.)

KAUSALYA: Younger wives must have their time. What losses can we speak of as our beauty fades? And each day makes us a little more invisible still.

(VALMIKI 2 continues pulling white through KAUSALYA’s hair.)

When Rama returned with beautiful Sita, his bride – I found reason again to dress and face the world. But ask any first wife: The waiting never leaves your soul.

(SITA stands behind KAUSALYA, and brushes her long graying hair. SITA’s own black hair is striking in contrast.)

SITA: Tomorrow: Mother to a King.

(She sees KAUSALYA’s stunned face.)

You did not know?

KAUSALYA: (Embarrassed.) It is many years since Dasaratha took my counsel. (Gathering herself.) It is his Dharma. Rama now belongs to his people.

SITA: Everyday, he will be less mine. How will I bear it. Ma?

KAUSALYA: Men cannot know grief until it sits at their table. We smell its shadow as children. We know its depth in the long nights of giving birth. In the agony of those hours, we brush shoulders with what waits for us all. Men know loss as death on the battlefield. We hear its song at the turning of each new moon.

SITA: (Eyes tearing.) Perhaps I am yet a child but without Rama I know I would die. As a shadow cannot be without its substance – I would simply cease to be.

KAUSALYA: The surrendering is ...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Half-title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• The Culture Project
• Characters
• Mise En Scene
• Prologue
• 1: Essence
• 2: Fall
• 3: Monkey Mind
• 4: Crossing Over
• 5: Darkness
• 6: Home
• Epilogue