The script

RAAJA AJAAR by Linda Shanson

NARRATOR Raaja and Ajaar are twin souls, doubles, one male one female. This is the story of their search for one another. Till now they led ordinary lives.

They sleep….now they must awake.

(swarmandal then singing)

song of the sea song of the hill song of the heart song of the will they wander where they can every woman every man song without meaning to behold I was born on the lip

song of rock song of stone song of the path that winds alone song of the wind that is never still song of the cup that must be filled I was born on the lip

song when night is thick and ear song for the dreamers to hear song for the children not yet born song for the saint and song for the worm I was born on the lip

(feminine spirits enter with a sound)

NARRATOR: Feminine spirits enter the house with their juices, shaking their hands.

Follow them into their world. Recognise them. In the pits of their stomachs they keep the keys. With open chins and heads down to their knees. On that ocean all is good and safe, no harm will come to you. Let her take you then in little boats of green and amber, along the shore side where crabs and cocos are concealed beneath the shifting sands.

(focus on Raaja who has been in the background shaking. Sounds of hoofs(tablas) throughout this.)

RAAJA: ‘I am not quiet myself tonight. There is a horse which keeps overtaking me who will not let me rest. So I must let him pass again and again with an empty saddle,stirrups swinging. Was I thrown from his side? Or is he calling to me? Has he escaped from a brutal master? Is he the riderless horse come to set all horses free? I cannot answer. He does not need an answer. Each time I turn to rest this phantom equine purser fills the air with dust and the clattering of hoofs. Take me take my cares take my weariness.

(dischord enter Creature)

CREATURE:

“I come on the side of the White Lion It is on his side that I ride through night facing west till dawn Do not ask from where I come or why. I live in the zone of hills and dreams, you will always find me here I speak through you I eat nothing but the lines left behind by warriors and men of worth whose footsteps are imprinted on my memory I will kill any in my way I must not be touched except by the finger of Truth which may did into my side with the fires of night I come to carry you to the other quarter I stand in the ring of power I belong to the rose and the perfume of roses scattered on the borders whose wings are the answers to prayer the shivers along my spine are the countless ages of men without direction poor motionless souls seeking without a guide they are the shivers which pass through me when these winds blow and make our ship to pass this way.”

(Ajaar dances while narrator speaks)

NARRATOR - She looks with the eyes of her brother into the bottomless darkness of night. She feels them staring like coals, dark,luminous in her skull. Why does she moan so? Who does she cry for? It is as though generations have been silent till now and in her they must finally be heard. It is the tragedy of unfulfilled lives, vanquished love and unexpressed desires. She reaches into the night. Her mind alive with questions, seeking for coherence. Her body, her breath, her home, her friends, her work, her love, her line tugging calling to be woven, seeking form. She knew that she must find the answer beneath it all. She must be certain of the right decisions, of her allies and hopes. Her glimpses motivated her. Now, here, apart, she felt compelled to draw a plan, to clarify her ideas, to make sense of it. She knew she must find the purpose which manifested itself so fervently. The source of her energy, and when frustrated, the source of her agony and madness.

*

Aphrodite endows her with the power of love. This is the thread that binds us all together. Take courage and surrender to it. Take strength and follow it.

It is as though each time she falls in love, she meets truth personified. Her lover seems to effuse an essential alchemy which turns her sight to gold, which throws open the doors of her imagination and settles upon her mind countless visions. Love stirs within her fountains of inspiration. What tenderness she feels for all her lovers, they are one joy to her, one love manifesting itself in a thousand faces.

Every cloud that passes is the face of one of her lovers. She knows that they are waiting for her that she need not be afraid. They float so gently, golden in the light of the sun setting over the mountains. She is sitting curled up far above the mountains peering down at them beneath her.

(sound of the wind)

The wind is searching the mountains. With warm breath it patrolls the night. Every door is opened every picture lifted from the walls. Chimes tinkle incessantly, shutters slamm rafters creak.

The wind had come full of the breath of past lives. Full of life it animates everything with its movement. For breath is the movement of life. Breath escapes through the cracks in the rocks whose swellings and shrinking imperceptibly shape continents. In the breath comes the sound and the song which swells the lungs, which stirs the leaves, which billows the clouds and lifts the wings. Sound vibrates making more breath, dissolving more forms. Breath moves the night filling it with blackness, pushing the earth towards morning.

Finally in that dark night she surrenders to the will of the mountains

There are men who would sift the world into fine gravel destroying the rocks and mountains greedy profit minded men who cut into the bleeding hillsides crumbling the castles that once stood on them. Their sons will be born with sand in their mouths and their veins will be blocked with granules.

(Ajaar finds the face of the mountain.)

Sweat pours off the chest of the Giant and his muscles stand out in tight knots. He is proud, defiant, stronger than the rest. He bends down with slowness, a heaviness as that before a storm. And with slow deliberation takes hold of the mountain and wrenches it from the earth. The thick air is shattered with a most terrible scream, the roots of the mountain hang bleeding deep torrents of warm blood which gushes over the valley Valley of Blood.

(rain tabla)

Then comes the rain such generous rain, it sweeps the leaves it soothes the boughs, it covers the earth. It give expression to her sadness, it weeps for her, and she wis comforted. The grey clouds are her shroud, and the soft breeze her sighs, a deep peace fills her as the earth drinks the moisture so she absorbs the coolness. Hope flickers, quivers within her. The notes of rain fall like music inside her head, pinpoints of soft light. The storm washes away the blood of the mountains.

( Ajaar’s mind is rewired and discovers unexplored areas of grey matter.)

From the base of her spine is extracted a liquid. They keep her and all the women in her mother’s line for the liquid which is milked from them. This liquid is rubbed into the soles of the feet. It contains the patterns of carpets. For these are the weavers of flying carpets, whosepatterns are stories.

An intense agitation overcomes came her which shakes her whole body as in a fever. She lapps greedily from pools of silver pouring out from the moon. It is as though she is satiating a very great thirst that has followed her through many lives. She stands up and dances her gratitude.

( she dances)

her medical history so outraged the medical profession that her case records were destroyed in order to keep their reputation in tact. It was presumed that she somehow was making use of that part of the brain which was hitherto been a mystery to us – those unexplored areas of grey-matter. She often described that her sensations were as if her brain were being rewired and new channels were being awakened. Tremendous heat was emitted from the base of her spine. Running from the throat to the ear is a line of a strength. It is like a line of steel. When sickness strikes it becomes inflamed. Then the victim must take to their bed and lie very still. Then can the true cause of the illness be located. Her illness seemed to be directing her. By closing her away from everything it took her to new places. The pain in her head intensified when she thought of certain things, so she used it like a compass. Her face turned into eggshell. Ribbons threaded through her and tied her to the ground to prevent her from floating upward. When alone she would take her head right off, fill it with water and swill it about before putting it back on again. Marbles were sewn into the soles of her feet. She had an eye growing in the back of her mouth, and one in the back of her heel, which meant she could no longer wear shoes. Throughout her ordeal she could hear the chorus of St. Matthew’s Passion by Bach. Wherever she went a brown and grey speckled lizard was seen nearby.

Eventually she dissolved into her shadow, which can still be seen walking up and down the stairs to the summerhouse and on windy nights is seen dancing naked on the balcony.

(Ajaar finds gifts of fruit, shells, gold. Sound of horses again. Raaja enters on horseback with a red book in his pocket with her name on it. She rides off on the same horse with him. They ride together and then she dismounts)

NARRATOR On their journey they have learnt many things.

She has learnt to play the tin whistle. She has learnt to grow a great deal through love. For on their journey they have come to love many things. They have come to love the horses, grasses, telling stories, poems, a way of life which is free and easy to control.

The Emu comes and Men with gold rings in their fingers. She must surely convince them of her reality.

AJAAR “I am in love and when I am this way it is as in a dream. It is that everything is united, One great ocean of love pervades the world. My head is full of visions, china boats sail on the oceans, my love is full of flowers, he is a forest through which I pass, he is a stag around whose neck I clasp in the snow, he is the noble eagle, the lithe panther, he is the harlequin who brings magic and with his fragrance I am intoxicated beyond words.

*

SINGER Her lips full of daffodils, bluebells and spring. She gives voice to flowers. Aromatic words, ribbons, honeycombs produced out of nothing spring to her lips come to her for wisdom come to her for poems mother of poetry mother of the pretty line mother of the daisy chain and buttercup, leafy harebell, stinky ragwort, periwinkle lindenblumen tansy columbine hairy hairy and slippy sac sac.

Ah my lonely lilly of the dale, my sing song sixpence, my battery bloomer porcupine all the crustaceans of the world gathering on the side dish ready with an answer to any riddles, for riddles are all that we can offer. The only legitimate statement riddler, riddler enjoy cherry stones summer sex memories yearnings lust anguish all wrapped up in July and August months for love and nakedness sun, warmth, hope.

NARRATOR The night Count Pleasansky captured a small universe, the sky was luminous blue. He carried it with the help of three servants who were sworn to secrecy.

The air was clear and sharp and the huge oak doors were thrown open. It took six men with caps on to set it down on the marble top where it shone like a gem. He had a special room built for his treasure, the walls of which were lined with blue silk and speckled with sapphires in the hope that the inhabitants would think it was the heavens. Sometimes he would stage spectacular cosmic displays for their entertainment. He had five daughters all with pigtails and smiles on their bottoms. Ah yes they would dance the can-can on wild summer evenings.

What happened to this world after he died is not known. It is rumoured by some that he had it buried with him.

( Raaja and Ajaar dance mirroring each other)

Two faces look in the waters. Together they seek. The waters tell.

some of us are the waves of the sea, some of us are the boats, some of us the sailors, some of us are the oars that are dipped and pulled and steer the boats upon the waters, and some of us are the tears of strain and hope and joy that are poured into the ocean.

*

( Atmosphere of the past)

AJAAR The past is full of faces, hats, boats and mandolins. On the bridges of Venetian canals the boys eat pears and watch the gondolas glide beneath them. Beyond this in time the Spanish Armada is silhouetted on a moonlit night. The shadows of the masts and the hanging riggings stretch along the shimmering waters. The scene is full of tenderness for how can they know what I see? Upon the harbour the crowds gather to watch. The pungent smell of fish and tar is in the air. A pirate is laughing. He is in disguise. His 3 cornered hat has fine multi-coloured plumes which are blowing in the breeze. His shoes are black with diamond buckles. His white silk stockings show a well turned calf and he wears pale blue breeches with buttons of yellow satin. Oh yes he is a very handsome figure. He is laughing for the winds are blowing and he is free. Though I know his face he cannot see me. He is innocent of time. He has his life before him and is many hundred years younger than I

*

RAAJA AND AJAAR speak in unison (shadow hands touch)

“We reach across time across the multiple manifestations when shall we meet again?”

(music possibly bansuri)

NARRATOR They bathe his face and cover it with a veil. Beneath the veil he can see figures moving. There are crowds of people walking in a market In the sunshine carrying baskets on their heads. There are women selling dried fishes, there are piles of mangoes, heaps of flowers, birds, everything is in abundance. He sees a desert oasis with palm trees and camels, and Arabs drinking tea. The veil has the scent of roses. He sees an Indian woman playing a flute in a beautiful tiled courtyard. Then he sees whirling dervishes. Elephants are walking through the forests, monkeys jump from tree to tree. He sees a lake whose waters are still and clear. He kneels by the water and sees his own reflection. His head is full of birds who rise up and fly over the water. She climbs onto the winged horse and soars above the cliffs, soars into the pale pale blue.

(music light and humorous like nursery)

In the Kingdom of the Flowers there is no fear, no pain. Life is forever blossoming, pouring out its vibrancy. The garden today is thronging with the bees intently feasting on the pink flowers.

(enter bees the bees chant in a chorus)

BEES CHORUS “Food to please, Food to please, we are, we are the honey bees furry bum, furry bum upon the flowers we dance and hum.”

NARRATOR The teddy bear clinging to her foot is unhappy. He’s been round and round the garden and has tickled many armpits. He is tired poor thing and needs a holiday half awake and half asleep more than half the time. Rectangles like this keep coming along and giving him a fright. He really is a bit of a square.

TEDDY BEAR . Singing voices, again singing, striped voices vegetarian voices, green leafy tongue. Songs of lung wort, flax and filberts, song of sycamore and birch song of ripening corn, song of foal song of the wasp white air song of men with no nose song of scary winds songs for all time of the breath.

NARRATOR Roxan Kingdom of grass and leaves. Refuge for men. Island of bruised web. Fine Feather, Holy Day, White Ball, Money Mouse, Morn King, Lump Stoll, King Crisp, places across the sill places across the word.

(enter Raaja . Raaja becomes the Sea. They meet The Flounder and the Great Bird. )

RAAJA

I am too tired to catch any of the fish let them go, let them go on their way I long to dream again. I am tired of salt on my lips. I must give up the sea yet where shall I go. All things lead to the sea, she is the mother, her blessing must be give to me before I may leave, before I may rest.

NARRATOR He turns away. His hair thick with ribbons of salt and his shoulders are made of shells and seaweed. He is indeed the salty sea Herself, restless, sad, angry at having been abused – of them taking the little fishes he wants to sit down and bury his toes in the sand, but he walks on, his head bent down counting the names of the great fishes he has known, especially THE FLOUNDER.

RAAJA These animals, these guardians come to us. Without knowledge we discharge them. In blackness we deny them. Foolishly we disinherit ourselves. In our cities in the prisons of our own making in our heartless mindless struggles we destroy the gentle eyed. We ridicule them and cut down their forests. We tear and scar their homeland. We do not deserve salvation eggmen – brittle flayed, burnt, sacrifice their children. Alligators eat them.

NARRATOR The fish come limping in. They have been doing battle. They can hardly breathe, their nostrils are full of dust. They hold armfuls of hooks. They are half fish half men. Their heads are fish and their torsos of men. The art of dancing was given by fish to men. They were the souls of Japanese fish caught at the dead of night from boats with lamps, stolen from the sea in the dead of night, when all things should be left in peace. Violation of the water is man’s greatest crime. Man fell from Eden not because of the apple, but because of the fish. The first theft from the sea caused the fall from grace. So delicate is the balance between the elements. Since that time each violation causes a most terrible lamentation. For the heart of God is in the ocean. Many fish have been martyred for mankind. Many of the saints were fishes who out of pity and love for mankind left the ocean.

RAAJA Inside the anus of the burrowing worm are the hearts of antelopes and bears wherever you go I keep finding feathers. They are the legacy of the Great Bird who like the Flounder have guided my spirit. The Flounder is at the bottom of the ocean, but The Great Bird is dead in London. His feathers are tokens of the love he gave me. They will save me when I fall from the mountain

(notebook in his hand he starts collecting the names of things like Adam in the Old Testament)

Earth…sky…sea..foot…had….shell…mountain..Ajaar.What is Ajaar? This nae is always on my lips!

NARRATOR He comes slowly, secretly, among them light footed like a cat amongst the pigeons, he stalks his prey. Before dusk before the evening scenes come on to view Just in those hours when the day is resigning when she is sighing ah the marmalade tom cat all syrupy and golden all tiger, gingerly approaches hankering after blood and feathers. But the Great Bird is already sleeping if we can find him his wings are folded in the dust. The only things he dreams about are the distant mountains of his home. His little heart beats hot and wet with blood and life. He dreams of rats and claw and trees old trees. Bees hover beneath him. All the striped round creatures of the world seek his friendship. They nestle as close to him as they can. Close enough to hear his heart beating.

(Raaja and Ajaar despair but are healed by the Earth and are reborn with the dawn.)

Their magic is gone – dissipated. They are empty, terrifyingly vacant, alone.

RAAJA AJAAR (howl together)

NARRATOR Their cries ring against the rocks sharpening their edges and their edges jutt into them. Remember the instructions of the ANTLION – When in danger lie down on the ground –

( they lie down)

EARTH “the world is a wonderful place made for you and all living creatures you cannot be alone for the earth supports and loves you”

(SIGHS)

NARRATOR Now the words come thick and fast out of the earth they come to the stomach through the tube which still attaches the soul to the earth in that attachment are rivers and gardens groves, swans, and blue horsemen.

*

Three horsemen of dawn ride across the beach before the first bird calls before the finger tips of light agitate the sleepers shades walk their hours of shadows liquids stir in the foetus day by their gestures form is woven beatings echo of their shadowy drummer through the gentle breath of dreamers to catch them dancing is auspicious they teach the elemental footwork the midwife to morning hums herself of a breathless melody and turns the body of the night away kissing her with shadows wrapping the infant in unformed hues of day with the cat restless on her lap of transformation sleepless fancy I sit with the midwife wiping her brow till a bird utters the first cry of morning

*

they bring the day in with their nets and with songs they fill the air as they slowly pull the dawn to earth. They kneel the sick child in front of the fresh day they tie her with ribbons of light and the energy of the light begins to flow into her.

(the diviners sing vibrato)

the day drifts over her

(singing stops)

They also bring their diviners who kneel in a line along the horizon. Some taste the air, sucking it through pursed lips thus they can test the clarity and temperature of the air and from this they know the quality of breath the day will bring others drink the day and know if it is sweet or salty others sort the day with their fingers like a fleece for the texture of the day. They seem so solitary dotted against the first grey light intent on their tasks they are the senses of the world without which we could not perceive that the day existed they are the senses personified.

RAAJA My diaries may be established in any part of the world. Once planted they take care of themselves. History is written in blood and sand and comes to us from the coast. We collect histories, together with Shells and the stones of the sea. They come to us because we are ready for them. We have been prepared. We have entered a new dimension.”

NARRATOR She keeps finding the books in the grass. She falls asleep and on waking they are there. Again and again it happens. Her head aches, it is as though her mind is giving birth to books all over the grass.

She lifts up her book – it is undergoing a sex change. She looks at the table it is undergoing a sex change. She looks at the glass of water it is undergoing a sex change, even the dustmen, postmen and mudmen are undergoing a change of sex.

Listen she is reading one now….

AJAAR It is only when you have no normality constancy, dictating to you pulling you back like a mouse on a string, only then will you stumble innocently into new lands.

These are matters of personal alchemy and I cannot break my spell for anyone. It is for you alone to prepare, test, stabilise the ultimate solution to your own problem.

The beautiful trickster has brought you here. Now you must follow him. As a search through the narrow crumbling streets it is his dancing shadow that eludes me at every corner. In how many dark and dismal places his charm has filtered through. He who is the king of stones opens the doors and points to the corners where whispers gather like dust.

Today he plays his trump for he has multiplied. Two tricksters two adorable seductive dancers who between them tear my soul apart and thrill me with their antics.

Without pure air all of this will come to nothing, for this is the solvent for dreams as fine as silk to spin and weave themselves. You must also learn to write poems at any time of day or night and chant upon stone and rock. You must learn to need little sleep by refreshing yourself with the flickering of shadows. These shadows are the colours of soft breath of which I have spoken before. Above all, do not be afraid. Do not close any door. What has gone before may never pass again, but what will come is far more wonderful.

( sets the book aside. A dog howls)

“The dog howls I howl morning lamentations if only the dog could write how much we would learn of human suffering.

Think how much we will know about each other when we next meet. We would have written so much. Yet I can never find words for the most wonderful things, wonderful magical explosions. The perfect life is an expansion of love.

(Raaja seeks medical help from a doctor, a chirologist and a cosmic dancer.)

( doctor’s surgery)

RECEPIONIST Dr. Sass is now ready to see you. He has been examining the messages you left him.”

RAAJA “There are times when I dream. Then I see her, my other one – she is crying for me. I am calling her. Through all this she is there undeniably.”

DOCTOR “Beaky, very, One dirty soup after another, generations of silt and mess. They don’t bother these days. Did you see what Dorris has done with the fishmongers bones? Did you see how she rolls them on her tongue lovely and crisp. I keep leaving you to go to Eden but I’ve stopped doing that now. It can’t be helped. It’s an unfortunate aspect it’s a depressing prospect. Put it from your mind. 5,421 it’ called getting it on with money, money jabber money blast.”

NARRATOR He is sent to Cephu Valmika who is a chirologist, but he also read backs. He believes that the destiny of an individual lies on his back. This was revealed to him from a divine source. Each individual has his signature on his back under the skin. Certain bodily postures channel the cosmic forces allowing them to flow through the system and recombine with the universe. With practice such postures can be perfected. The actor is then a cosmic dancer, taking a position can thus affect the world. I know of one such person who lives at the top of a mountain. Both male and female her life is devoted to her art capturing the energies of the rising sun and drawing through her the threads of creation. She can convert wind and rain rock and cloud to sound or odour. Such is her art and magic. People from the valleys bring their sick to her and she will dance for them. Sometimes her movements are accompanied by a high whistling voice which seems to move all around her. The vibrations set up from her movements are said to bring harmony to the dischordant tones of the sick.

DOCTOR It is not everyday that visions come these are precious, special days. You must cultivate your garden so that the visions thrive, water them, tend them, sink into them, and most of all believe in them.

NARRATOR Each day balancing out. Each day colouring the final picture with its hue. For the colours and flowers of each day are sifted and filtered at night while the world dream and stories are distilled from the minds of dreamers. The great rolls of breath, each persons destiny inhaled. Each person humming with their gyroscope of light blending together in some celestial orchestration.

The moth guide came with directions Imprinted on his wings in Intricate designs of grey and white he stayed motionless on the rug.

She listened to the rain, it was soft, it was sighing it was soothing to behold. It drew her closer to the moth for they were born sheltered and alone. She was hoping that a gentle sleep would come upon her and engulf them both in its padded blackness where she and the moth could flutter without fear.

But when sleep came it was bright, bright as day and she could see the fields with donkeys grazing and a boy chasing a huge pig.

Sleep was just a door and not a Blanket, a cocoon, she waited for the Cocoon. The Moth knew. He waited also in this powdery gown. The two of them alone together with the rain falling outside.

The fountainhead of granite overflows, and in the waters they are reflected. The body struggling to interpret the conflicting codes. Even beautiful creatures come here to gaze into the waters. Here on this timeless afternoon, in fragrant summer comes Raaja with a flock of sheep. He sits down to rest awhile, listening to the murmur of the fountain, and the bleating of the sheep. He feels the sun’s heat grow more intense. The stones gleamed smooth and white.

His tongue is hot and dry Yet he cannot move. A great stillness comes upon him, a deep and solemn stillness that encompasses everything. He turns and faces the little pool of water in the basin. It is smooth and clear like the moment which engulfs them all. He lookes into the waters. The cloudless sky fills the waters. He sees his face, smooth, perfect, his green eyes, his red hair. He looks deeply into the reflection. A bird flies above and as the shadow crosses the water the reflection moves. It comes upwards. It returns his stare. It draws closer. It smiles at him. A hand stretches out of the water towards him. He knows that hand, the slender wrist. She beckones him. He bends down towards her. Their lips meet moistened with the waters of the fountain. The sheep are restless, the dog waggs his tail.

RAAJA AJAAR (together)

From now on we too are no longer alone. From now on we two are on our own.

THE END

— Raaja Ajaar, written 1976 by Linda Shanson