- Sajid , 4th August 2020, Darjeeling
Of course, I am an experienced guide. I’ve walked the trails – the roads less travelled. In fact, I’ll take it a step further and say that it’s in my business to make sure that I guide the wide-eyed greenhorns into unknown territory.
And I don’t need a hat and a whip like Indiana Jones.
I’ve got all the maps that I need, all the tracking equipment that will save us in case of an emergency.
As a high school teacher who treads with Mr Shakespeare every day, I have to sure about every nook and cranny in The Tempest ahead. The nerdy ones will say “Hey, we’ve done the basics with Merchant of Venice”, but the vast majority of them are absolutely scared of this course.
How does one begin to explain the intricacies of 17th century Italian duchies where political ambition, magic, power, illusion and love are woven in an intricate tapestry of drama?
And then at the end of all – “they lived happily ever after.” Well, to help some of my young readers, I thought I’d write a fictional fable about The Tempest and its origins.
In fact, every superhero nowadays in popular fiction has a back story, a painful past, a mysterious stranger with strange powers.
So, like the intrepid archaeologist Dr Indiana Jones, here begins the tale of Prospero, the brave and wise prince of Milan.
With humble gratitude to William Shakespeare - the original troubadour.
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A.D. 1608 – some in the forests in the outskirts of Venice.
The horses raced ahead, crashing through the jungle. The hooves thundering, beautiful Arabian stallions with their manes flying wild in the hazel winter sun.
Mirabel, the beautiful and free-spirited princess of Venice led the way. It was her hunting party and she was leading it. The princes from the royal houses of Genoa, Florence, Milan, Naples and Rome followed her.
They were after a stag. A beast with huge antlers and all of them were armed with crossbows. But the stag was not in mood to die today, he ran through the forest with a foreknowledge that was uncanny.
Prospero, the young prince of Milan, had hunted in these forest before. He was closest to Mirabel and this was resented by Alonso, the prince of Naples. Prospero soon overtook the group. He disappeared through the thickets and was lost.
As the group thundered to a halt, they heard the plaintive sound of a hunting horn. Alonso cursed. It was Prospero, he had felled the stag. The hunting season was over and there was a shadow of a smile on Mirabel’s lips.
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A.D. 1609 – The Castle of the Duke of Milan.
“It’s going to a boy, a son, someone who will go hunting with me”, said Prospero as he sat with his wife Mirabel. They were expecting their first child.
“She will a girl, a warrior princess, just like me and we shall hunt together while you are busy running the state”, she flashed back in mock anger.
It had been a whirlwind romance for them. Mirabel, with her feisty nature and love for the outdoors. Prospero, with his rugged looks but a taste for the intellect. The duchies of Milan and Venice were overjoyed. Festivities of the marriage coincided with the New Year celebrations. The music and the wine flowed freely.
The duchy of Naples was the only invitee who declined to attend the marriage. Alonso did not take his defeat in love lightly. He shut himself up for months and then finally overcame his stupor with a help of wandering monk. He too took a royal wife from the neighbouring kingdom of Spain.
“If it is a daughter, I will teach her music, art and ballet. She will listen to operas, paint with masters and dance like a goddess”, Prospero teased.
“My daughter will ride a horse, shoot a bow and learn to fence with the finest sword-masters in Europe”, Mirabel laughed. Her infectious laughter spread through the castle like a fragrance of a spring flower on a sunny day.
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A.D. 1609 – The Castle of the Duke of Naples. Sometime near midnight.
The monk bowed before the Duke.
“Have you prepared the tincture?” Alonso asked the hooded creature kneeling before him.
“Yes, Sire. It is the most potent yet.”
“Then, go ahead. Sebastian will take you across and Antonio will meet you guide you through the castle. Let me know when you have news for me.”
A small boat waited near the castle docks for the monk. He got in with Sebastian and they rowed away in the misty night.
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A.D. 1609 – The Castle of the Duke of Milan.
A piercing shriek shattered the still air. Prospero, who had been pacing the corridors with his brother Antonino, jumped.
“What in heavens is that sound?”
“Brother, it must an omen, you stay here. I will go hither.”
Antonio ran towards the main chamber. Mirabel had been in labour for the past hour and her scream had been a blood curdling one. Antonio hoped that the monk’s poison would have worked.
As he knocked on the door, he was secretly pleased. Mirabel had breathed her last and he ran back to Prospero with false tears in his eyes.
Prospero’s world collapsed. He lifted his young daughter from his wife’s lifeless hands and whispered, “Miranda”.
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A.D. 1611 – Somewhere in the wild seas offshore Milan.
“It has been two years. I am tired to waiting. You promised me that you will help me Alonso.”
“I agree, it has been too long, Antonio. We decide now. Prospero has more or less abandoned the dukedom in your hands. His love for his dead wife and his infant has blinded him.”
“He spends entire days locked in his study. I have seen strange lights through the windows and heard ominous sounds. It’s dark magic he practices.”
“Don’t worry. We have the monk. He will make sure to thwart Prospero’s power.”
“When, oh, when shall I be the Duke of Milan? “
“Within a fortnight my friend. The gales are upon us. It is the season of storms. Who knows? On one of these stormy nights, your dear brother may go boating with his infant and be lost at sea.”
“Then, I shall wait for that tempest.”
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A.D. 1611 – A wild stormy night in Milan.
“No, Antonio. I bear you no ill will. But Miranda is an infant. Spare her. She is innocent. You and I share blood. She needs you.”
Prospero lay tied to a small boat and Miranda slept drugged next to him.
“You never understood brother. You were always the chosen one. The wise Prospero. The brave and intelligent Prospero. I, Antonio, withered under your shadow.”
The monk stared at sea. A storm was fast approaching. The soldiers were dumb, they were handpicked thugs of Sebastian. Only Gonzalo hung around the boat, making sure Miranda was sleeping. He had prepared the boat for father and daughter.
“Cast them out. My blood is no longer their blood. I have let go”, Antonio turned his back.
The soldiers untied Prospero and put him on the boat. Gonzalo looked straight ahead and whispered to him, “She is Mirabel’s daughter. I have nothing but love for both of you. I’ve made sure the boat has provisions and also your books and other things from your study. M’Lord, forgive me”. He pushed the boat out. As he walked back, he stopped by the kneeling monk- with one swift stroke, cut open his neck and let the blood mingle with rain.
Thunder shook the heavens and lightning streaked across the sky. Prospero covered his daughter and looked back. His eyes were red. He felt powerless against the rage that welled up inside him.
As the storm tossed and turned the small boat, Prospero held his daughter and kept up his incantations till he no longer heard the sound of his voice.
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A.D. 1614 . Somewhere across the Mediterranean. In a beautiful island.
Miranda ran across the open field into her father’s arms. Her golden hair glowed and she happily shouted “Papa, Papa.”
Prospero smiled and in his smile his love echoed.
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