From the moment it begins, is a difficult play. Twisted, anguished voices, a scene in a female ward of a mental asylum, a heavy gloom laced with tension, humiliation and defiance; the stage is set with images and sounds that introduce you to the life and legacy of a poet whose words were drawn from a pool of oppression and tragedy.
Pakistani poet Sara Shagufta’s genius hasn’t yet got the space it both needs and demands. During her life, her work lived under the shadow of public scrutiny that insisted on branding her moral character and paid little attention to her literary talent. After her death, her maligned reputation still survived, edging out the possibility of any widespread recognition for her poetic genius. There is little information available on her life, and this play, presented by Wings Cultural Society at the recently held All India Radio's Urdu Theatre Festival and directed by Tarique Hameed, has been written by Danish Iqbal using Amrita Pritam’s book on Shagufta as the primary source. It paints a sort of wretched, tragic life that gave birth to Shagufta’s powerful poetry.
Iqbal doesn’t put the events in chronological order, instead focussing on specific incidents that shaped Shagufta’s life; a landscape dotted with deep physical and emotional upheaval. Married to a hard, dominating man at the age of 14, divorced for raising her voice against her husband when he tries to rape a young girl, and then forced to admit to promiscuity just so that she can get custody of her children, from whom she is separated anyway when their father poisons their mind against her, Shagufta’s life takes a cruel turn early on. Sukanya Mukherjee, essaying Shagufta, manages to portray the innocence and naiveté that Shagufta begins her journey with, as well as the chipping away of both these qualities as time moves on and her circumstances worsen. It is, though, after her second marriage, when she loses her new born and witnesses her husband’s callousness that a steely resolve enters Shagufta.
Now aware of the world that men have created for women, and the traps that patriarchy has set, she pumps her own breast milk out in a glass and swears by it that she will use her poetry and words to write against the patriarchal, male dominated world that has scars women. She promises to write only true words that come from her heart, and in doing so, she takes the first step that, though driven by desperation, also becomes a thriving sign of protest. Mukherjee shines in this scene, her words and face lit by a kind of desperate, cornered defiance. For a split second, the scene sways between a breakdown and a bounce back, and so, when she raises her glass and speaks again, the tone is set for the rest of Shagufta’s life.
Iqbal, while painting the grim picture of her condition, also infuses each scene with that sense of revolt. Born in an age that had no space for women who refuse to bow down, Shagufta’s struggles take from her first love, then sanity, and finally, her life. Though she finds a lover and companion in Sayeed after her third failed marriage, Shagufta commits suicide, choosing to preserve the little moments of happiness she has found, so sure that they too will disappear if she doesn’t.
What could have easily emerged, if the play followed just the story and not its soul, was a tale that evoked only pity and sorrow. You could leave the theatre feeling sorry, but disconnected. Instead, Hameed’s direction, the cast’s approach and Iqbal’s words elevate the play to something much more lasting. It is also perhaps Shagufta’s own legacy that refuses to let her become just another tragic figure. History is cruel, and once it forgets, it’s difficult to make it remember again. This play tries to do exactly that, pulling out of past pages a life that needs to be remembered.
