Written long before the October revolution in Russia, Fakir Mohan Senapati’s book is the first Indian novel to deal with exploitation of landless peasants by a feudal lord in India. Robin Das speaks to Utpal K Banerjee about his theatrical adaptation of the book
Can one have authentic teleportation by a quarter of a millennium, bang after the decade of India’s first war of IndependenceIJ If one can, one would then find, a la Dickens, “the best of times and the worst of times.” On one hand, after the bloodshed and the ravages of the Mutiny and its aftermath, a universal law and order regimen was established, a new legal system of revenue administration introduced, the judiciary — complete with magistrates and lawyers — came into force and a pan-Indian governance of the British India attempted with full vigour. On the other hand, the system of evil landlord had come up under the guise of long-term lease and tenancy, the whole class of “zamindars” created to exploit poor peasants and the entire legal machinery skillfully manipulated to create layers of irredeemable tyranny.
Chha Maana Atha Guntha (Six Acres and a Third) is an Oriya classic: serialised in the closing years of the 19th century and published in 1902 as a revolutionary contribution to the prevailing Oriya literature. It weaves a tale of wealth and greed, of property and theft, of affection and debauchery: set in those flawed times of the third quarter of the century when the Queen Victoria’s imprimatur was being drawn on the prevailing script of turbulence and chaos. Penned by Fakir Mohan Senapati as his earliest literary oeuvre, the story of Ramachandra Mangaraj, the petty landowner, reveals several layers of nuanced implications in a fractured society where Mangaraj places mistress Champa far above the wedded wife, tweaks the law to add on his already considerable land-assets, curries favour under the fast-fading Nawab-rule by offering the potentate a dancing damsel and continues to project a benign figure for himself to all around. In a complex web of literary text, Senapati — although remaining a critic of the British colonial rule — also offers a powerful indictment of social and political authority. Chhau Vigha Zameen, presented recently by NSD’s final-year students under the baton of thespian Robin Das faithfully brings the novel up front, literally chapter by chapter. There are two narrators valiantly presenting the streming of events to the viewers as they occur in different zones of the proscenium on a minimal set. Mangaraj mostly presents a stoic figure, as circumstances are drawn and re-drawn around him: With indulged sons mouthing their soliloquy; the pampered brides-in-law playing cards all the while; the trespassing in the cousin’s yard at dawn and ensuring illegal possession; the brief fight with the rival Bagh Singh and its solution by surreptitiously setting Bagh’s house on fire and the encounter with the Nawab’s corrupt representative to overwhelm him with gifts and extract fabulous concessions.
The tables are turned with the British legal paraphernalia overtaking his sinister doings and at the end the “judge sahib” ordering his landed estate — his “zamindari” — to be snatched away. The spirited defence by Champa was to no avail and the meek did inherit the earth, Biblically speaking. Only the sudden symbolism of divine grace, redeeming the devastated Mangaraj into her fold, seemed a mere surrender to the superstitious belief system of 250 years ago.
Excerpts of an interview with the director.
How does Senapati’s work stand out in the Oriya literary sceneIJ
Written long before the October revolution in Russia, his book is the first Indian novel to deal with exploitation of landless peasants by a feudal lord in India. It is set within colonial Indian polity, from the perspective of the ordinary villagers and peasants, the “foot soldiers.”
In your dramatisation, have you closely followed his idiomIJ
Indeed, the linguistic innovations of his novel inaugurated the age of modern Oriya prose. They were based on a vision of social equality and cultural self determination. Senapati was no romantic nationalist and his conception of language was based on his progressive social vision. He sought to popularise an egalitarian medium, sensitive enough to draw on the language of the paddy fields and village-markets. I belong to North Balasore district in the neighbourhood of Mayurbhanj district. The book uses their dialect, which has been retained.
Does your play’s dialogues reflect the nuances of the original OriyaIJ
The play is in a mixed Hindi and Hindustani, Senapati was well-read in Shakespeare and European literature, with his novel reflecting social realism of his time. I think we have kept this flavour, which resembles that of Gogol.
What is your comment on the style of the playIJ
We have made it as narrative drama, as is done, say, in Pandavani. The events progress in keeping with the flow of the novel. Some minor characters and insignificant incidents are omitted, otherwise the main flow has been kept in Toto. The beauty of the original is that it easily lends itself to the Paalaa Gaan format, which has been our style, too.
What about costume and musicIJ
It is period costume, when dhoti and shirt were freely blended. Music has been kept as prevalent in our districts, within the limitations of availability of musical instruments in the Capital. Sarengi has been a boon.