Skip to main content

Shakespeare in Prison

Robben Island Prison
Image from Britannica Encyclopedia 


It was a pitch-black midnight. The Robben Island Prison stood like a gigantic monster on a grim terrain. The guard who was on watch that night was startled by an unusual sound from one of the dark cells in the solitary confinement section of the prison. What could be that grunt-like sound at this time of the night when all prisoners must be asleep? Even light was not permitted anywhere in the prison. Forget sounds. Was it some ghost? After all, so many prisoners died in those cells succumbing to the brutality of the British police.

The guard moved in the direction of the sound. It was coming from the cell where a prisoner named Nelson Mandela was kept. The guard stood outside the dark cell and listened. “To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer…”

“Mandela, what the hell are you doing?” The guard asked. He knew if the chief heard such sounds that would be the end of the prisoner.

Mandela told the guard that he was reciting the soliloquies from some of Shakespeare’s plays.

The prisoners were not allowed to read anything except the Bible. Later Tolstoy’s speeches and some books of H G Wells were also allowed. Not Shakespeare. But Mandela had managed to get a copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

It was an Indian named Venkata Ratnam who smuggled in Shakespeare to Robben. Venkata Ratnam was a teacher at the Durban University and was arrested when he started supporting the causes of the Africans against the British colonial government. When the guard saw a book with him, he was questioned. “It’s Shakespeare Bible,” said the professor. As soon as he heard the word ‘Bible’ the guard crossed himself piously and let the prisoner carry it in.

Shakespeare became a favourite author of many of the prisoners. Mandela loved the soliloquies. Shakespeare was discussed in detail by the learned among the prisoners.

Much later, as a free man, Mandela visited England and addressed a group of students of the London University. One of his counsels to the students was to learn to enjoy the liberating power of good literature. Good literature can be as soothing as a miraculous balm when you are going through tough times. Shakespeare can be a deity in a prison.

Comments

  1. Hari OM
    Hoorah for Shakespeare. Hoorah for Mandela. Hoorah for Venkata. And all like them... YAM xx

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm sure books can keep you feeling alive in prison. 'Shakespeare's Bible!' -- I like that the sound of that. :) That's ONE way to sneak books into prison. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. What else but books can engage the mind when one is in prison, especially solitary confinement?

      Delete
  3. Very interesting! The importance of reading is well underlined

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

Sanjay and other loyalists

AI-generated illustration Some people, especially those in politics, behave as if they are too great to have any contact with the ordinary folk. And they can get on with whoever comes to power on top irrespective of their ideologies and principles. Sanjay was one such person. He occupied some high places in Sawan school [see previous posts, especially P and Q ] merely because he knew how to play his cards more dexterously than ordinary politicians. Whoever came as principal, Sanjay would be there in the elite circle. He seemed to hold most people in contempt. His respect was reserved for the gentry. I belonged to the margins of Sawan society, in Sanjay’s assessment. So we hardly talked to each other. Looking back, I find it quite ludicrous to realise that Sanjay and I lived on the same campus 24x7 for a decade and a half without ever talking to each other except for official purposes.      Towards the end of our coexistence, Sawan had become a veritable hell. Power supply to the

Thomas the Saint

AI-generated image His full name was Thomas Augustine. He was a Catholic priest. I knew him for a rather short period of my life. When I lived one whole year in the same institution with him, I was just 15 years old. I was a trainee for priesthood and he was many years my senior. We both lived in Don Bosco school and seminary at a place called Tirupattur in Tamil Nadu. He was in charge of a group of boys like me. Thomas had little to do with me directly as I was under the care of another in-charge. But his self-effacing ways and angelic smile drew me to him. He was a living saint all the years I knew him later. When he became a priest and was in charge of a section of a Don Bosco institution in Kochi, I met him again and his ways hadn’t changed an iota. You’d think he was a reincarnation of Jesus if you met him personally. You won’t be able to meet him anymore. He passed away a few years ago. One of the persons whom I won’t ever forget, can’t forget as long as the neurons continu

William and the autumn of life

William and I were together only for one year, but our friendship has grown stronger year after year. The duration of that friendship is going to hit half a century. In the meanwhile both he and I changed many places. William was in Kerala when I was in Shillong. He was in Ireland when I was in Delhi. Now I am in Kerala where William is planning to migrate back. We were both novices of a religious congregation for one year at Kotagiri in Tamil Nadu. He was older than me by a few years and far more mature too. But we shared a cordial rapport which kept us in touch though we went in unexpected directions later. William’s conversations had the same pattern back then and now too. I’d call it Socratic. He questions a lot of things that you say with the intention of getting to the depth of the matter. The last conversation I had with him was when I decided to stop teaching. I mention this as an example of my conversations with William. “You are a good teacher. Why do you want to stop