Dara

adapted by Tanya Ronder from Shahid Nadeem's play

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) 6 February 2015

This play, originally performed in Pakistan, has been adapted into English. It tells of the rise of Aurangzeb, who succeeded his father Shah Jahan as Mughal Emperor in 1659 by eliminating his brothers, in particular the crown prince Dara.

The play is mainly concerned with the critical events of 1659, but includes a number of explanatory flashbacks (the earliest to 30 years before when Shah Jahan's sons and daughters were still teenagers), and a final scene in 1707 when Aurangzeb was 89 and close to death.

The flashbacks are perhaps not a good idea in an historical play, as they necessitate projected text to tell the audience where and when we are; it is not clear why the narrative could not have been presented in chronological order. Instead we are plunged into a political crisis without explanation or background (unless we have studied the programme - but why should one be obliged to do this?) and then retrospectively we have some back-story and perhaps a too-heavily ironic scene in which a fakir predicts (in general terms) the internecine squabbling and murder that we have already seen.

The set is an extremely effective versatile space of white scalloped arches, marble floors and steps, and black lace work screens which are slid across the stage to indicate scene changes and define more intimate spaces where required. At times it seems a little too cavernous for the action portrayed, but usually it suits the scene marvellously well. It really comes into its own in the climax of the first act, and the opening of the second.

The first act closes with Dara's arraignment for apostasy, presented as a trumped up charge designed to discredit him. The mullah, judge, prosecutor and other court officials are disposed on the raised dais, while in a gallery to one side ostensibly masked by some screens, Aurangzeb and his sister Roshanara can observe and even control events. The arguments concerning Islam and its relations with other faiths remain intensely relevant today, and the scene is both intellectually rich and dramatic. Dara attempts to defend a more liberal outlook (an extension of the policies of his ancestors) while the court, following Aurangzeb's lead, or rather capitalising on his personally austere attitude to Islam, brings extreme pressure on him to conform to their view, and finally, inevitably, condemns him. It brings to mind many great courtroom scenes where principles clash but the protagonist is doomed no matter what - for example, the trial of Sir Thomas More as presented in 'A Man for All Seasons'.

Dara's liberal and inquiring attitude is attractive especially to audiences in the secular West, whereas Aurangzeb's puritanical stance raises all the fears of religious intolerance that currently bedevil us. That this is combined with a ruthless drive for political power only adds to the ease with which he can be detested. Yet he is not a cardboard figure. In yet another flashback he is shown as a young man totally devoted to a Hindu slave girl; her death causes him great grief, There is also an extraordinary scene when he lambasts his court - and in particular his favourite sister - for rejoicing over Dara's condemnation. He seems genuinely appalled that they have not perceived his brother's downfall as an entirely regrettable political and spiritual necessity, while they are just baffled by his outrage at their glee. But his remedy - to insist on the marriage and subservience of the rejoicing women, and to ban musicians - coupled with his determination no longer to be tolerant towards the Hinduism which sustains the vast majority of his subjects - presages the fateful polarity between the two faiths on the Indian subcontinent.

Unfortunately the construction of the play makes it hard to trace the progress of his spiritual development in any depth. Hints of jealousy and exasperation at his father's favouritism even when the brothers were young jostle with his increasingly narrow view of what is permissible in Islam, without being integrated, and there is really no attempt to show how his grief over his slave girl's death affects his overall outlook; it is just an episode that needs to be represented.  The play implies that he is haunted by the ghosts of his victims, and his desire to prevent fratricidal strife in the next generation looks completely unrealistic.

Prince Dara is made to look like a lost opportunity for enlightened rule. This has to be taken on trust since he is militarily defeated even as the play opens, and later (or earlier - another flashback) he doubts his own fitness to rule in a conversation with his father. Shah Jahan asserts his preference for his eldest son, but his own style as ruler (at least in the play) does not engender confidence in his judgement. Perhaps Dara has most power as a glorious might-have-been, his spiritual journey an inspiration and exemplar of the route humanity might take if it were more courageous and less mistrustful of the other.