Disintegration

Mamata:
Friends, Bengalis, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury CPM, not to praise them. The evil that they do lives after them; The good(read:bad) is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with CPM. The noble Budhha Hath told you Karat was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath CPM answer'd it. Here, under leave of Budhha and the rest-- For Budhha is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men-- Come I to speak in CPM's funeral. They were our comrades, faithful and just to us: But Budhha says they were ambitious; And Budhha is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Bengal Namely "TATA"Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in CPM seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, CPM hath wiped the tears with threats: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Budhha says they were ambitious; And Budhha is an honourable man. You all did see that on the May 9,2007 Mr.RATAN TATA offered thrice the price of the land, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Budhha says they were ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Budhha spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love them once, not without cause for 32 years: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for them? O judgment! thou art fled to Budhhu beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with CPM, And I must pause till it come back to me.
Mamata: But yesterday the word of CPM might Have stood against the world; now lies they there. And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters, if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Budhha wrong, and Karat wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you the people of Bengal, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of CPM; I found it in their closet, 'tis their will: Let but the commons hear this testament-- Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read-- And they would go and rub salt on CPM's wounds And dip their napkins in the sacred blood they have shed, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a poor legacy Unto their issue to not repeat it again. Mamata: Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how CPM betrayed you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, bearing the will of CPM, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 'Tis good you know not that you are their heirs; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

Mamata:

Will you be patient?
will you stay awhile?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it:
I fear I wrong the honourable men
Whose daggers have stabb'd Bengal;
I do fear it.

Bengalis: They were traitors: honourable men! The will! the testament! They were villains, murderers: the will! read the will.
Mamata: You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of CPM, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?
Bengalis: Room for Antony, most noble Antony.
Mamata If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this red mantle: I remember The first time ever CPM put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day they came in Bengal: Look, in this place ran Budhha' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Biman made: Through this the well-beloved Budhha stabb'd; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Bengal follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Budhha so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Budhha, as you know, was Bengal's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Bengal loved him, 32 years !!! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Bengal saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd it: then burst its mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of NANO's factory, Which all the while ran blood, great Bengal fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold Our Bengal's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. Bengalis: Peace there! hear the noble Antony. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. Mamata: Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable: What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it: they are wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Budhha is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt woman, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Bengal's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Budhha, And Budhha Mamata, there were an Mamata Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Bengal that should move The stones of Bengal to rise and mutiny.
Bengalis :
Away conspirators.
Mamata Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak. Bengalis: Peace Ho!