Shivani Tibrewala presented her play, The Old Man and The Sea, blending dance, drama and Rumi philosophy. Utpal K Banerjee reports
The 1954 American Nobel laureate, Earnest Hemmingway, once said, “No good book has ever been written that has in it symbols arrived at beforehand and stuck in. I tried to make a real old man, a real boy, a real sea, a real fish and real sharks. But if I make them good and true, they would mean many things…”
His famous 1952 novella The Old Man and the Sea. that won him a Pulitzer, was built around an émigré Spaniard Santiago, an old fisherman, who had such a spell of bad luck for 84 days that his apprentice boy Manolin was debarred from accompanying him any more. All alone, he valiantly takes out his skiff in the Gulf Stream, north of Cuba, far into the sea and chances upon a large marlin on the very next day.
In his quiet struggle to net it, to tire it out over the next two days and two nights, and finally to harpoon it to death, he is famished, totally exhausted and almost in delirium sans sleep. But the trail of blood attracts a bevy of hungry sharks whom he cannot ward off and eventually what he carries to the shore is a carcass: the head, bare skeleton and tail. Was it a triumph of will or utter defeatIJ
The Old Man and the Sea was recently dramatised as Sufi fable. Very thoughtfully adapted and directed by Shivani Tibrewala, the play was performed as a solo rendering by the thespian Tom Alter, with dance rendition by Zia Nath.
It was a pen-portrait of stark isolation at sea, where the old man carries out a one-sided dialogue with the fish: first as a long-sought prey, and later as a brother: I love you, I respect you, and I will kill you before the day is done…
The conquest becomes a camaraderie, when he has to do his job, and the fish his. The dances are skillfully interlaced in varied costumes: now as thoughts of Santiago, now as the fish, and now as the spectre of macabre death. Quipped Zia, who danced like an ineffable elf, “I’ve blended Odissi with Sufi movements. While I trained in Odissi, I learnt Sufi at home and have been whirling for a long time.”
Said Tom, who did the most commendable job, “The play is about half the text, Shivani has done it. I completely internalised Hemmingway — Santiaogo was me. My enactment on stage is interspersed with my taped voice reciting verses of Jalaluddin Rumi. The linkage between Sufi and Santiago is the common suffering, Rumi’s Ishq-e-Haqiqi for God somewhere comes through in the old man’s unshakeable faith in his inner self, his indomitable spirit.” Elaborated Shivani from Mumbai, “Every time I have been reading the book, new meanings have emerged. Biblical nuances have been commonly found, but I discovered resonance of Sufism. In my editing process, I left out the boy Manolin and others, concentrating entirely on the old man’s character: his feelings and emotions.”
About Rumi, she pointed out, “This 13th century scholar, mystique and poet is relevant even today. When we strive to conquer the world, we often forget that the conquest begins and ends within. The old fisherman in this fable sees the fish as his brother rather than as enemy. In their quest for life, Santiago and the fish are united — silent witnesses to each other’s quet struggle. Be it at the most trying of times, or in his moment of glory, he — like a true warrior — humbly admires the strength, dignity and courage of his brother.”
She, added, “The unflagging patience, humility and love transform Hemmingway’s old man into an epic hero — and lets his tragic eventual defeat transcend into a triumph of the spirit — when seen through Rumi’s eyes.”
Here is vintage Rumi that she quoted to conclude: love’s an alchemy, it’s the heartbeat of the absolute. When we open to love, the transformation it brings us is like the grace that is bestowed by God. There’s no going back once we embark upon the path, but, because it’s so unknown, we must be delicate and patient with ourselves. Wait and see. Be silent and know. One day we will conquer all fears, even that of death.