Utpal K Banerjee writes on two dance-dramas woven around the sage and women in his life
If a motto was needed for the recent Mohana Festival, organised by the Kri Foundation, it would be: From attachment to detachment. For, both the dance-dramas, Yashodhara and Shweta Mukti, were built around redoubtable women: steadfast in their conviction and courage; struggling against the established society; and veering towards an unassailable goal of salvation. And all of them happened to live around the Buddha and fight their individual destinies during the sixth century BC when he was at the pinnacle of his pious glory.
Yashodhara, on the first two evenings, was presented by JustUs Repertory from Chennai. Scripted and directed by Gowri Ramnarayan, who also composed its music and created choreography, the play was based on the verse of Yashodhara, composed by Maithilisharan Gupt (1886-1964). The latter was a pioneer of Hindi literature who wrote in Khari Boli (plain dialect) at a time when most Hindi poets preferred Brajbhasha or Avadhi dialect. Gupt voiced the epic lamentation of Yashodhara — the wife whom Prince Siddhartha deserted overnight in quest of Enlightenment.
Yashodhara — essayed by the US-based danseuse Mythili Prakah — was mesmerising. As the only other character, Gowri did sutradhar’s role and recounted, “I was myself enchanted by the lilt of Gupt’s poetry recited to me as a child. I sought to recapture its magic!”
Sweta Mukti, premiered on the final evening by the Odissi dancer Kavita Dwibedi, fell back on five women in the Buddha’s life and times. Gaurami, Siddhartha's foster mother, comes first. Her foster son has become the guru. “Taken from Amrita Pritam’s memorable poetry, I depicted the relationship between Gautami and Gautama as that of sky and cloud: together, but never attached,” said Kavita. In contrast, Yashodhara — drawn from Gupt again — accepts at the end that her husband is not merely meant for her, but for the whole universe.
Magandhi is an unfamiliar female, seen to carnally desire the Buddha but, once frustrated, becomes wild and inflamed — akin to khandita nayika (querulous heroine) of Indian tradition. Defended Kavita, “I got this unusual character from Oriya poetry and from Madhukar Piplayas’ Hindi writings. Magandhi is supposedly sarbangasundari (a consummate beauty), who can’t fathom how the Buddha could possibly reject her advances, hence her fury!” Prakruti is the untouchable girl of the Buddhist annals, keeping whom in view, Tagore penned his dance-drama Chandalika. It is a confrontation between the Buddha-disciple Ananda who seeks a simple drink and Prakruti who falls for him. Ananda is saved by the Buddha, with Prakruti becoming his disciple. Finally comes Amrapali, the beauteous courtesan, who discovers her true self when she sees the Buddha. Added Kaveri, “I have taken her story from Theri gatha (Sacred Verses) of the Middle Ages. For Amrapali, it’s like gazing into a mystic mirror where one can identify one’s essential being. From the mundane to the divine, Amrapali’s journey is a search for freedom.”
On her solo dance-format for all five women, Kavita admitted, “I wanted to get out of the usual Odissi formulations on Radha-Krishna theme. For these five heroines, sacrifice, not success, has been the goal, and they have seldom been clubbed together. But I agree that there could be more embellishments: respectively with royal minions, queen’s maids, Magandhi’s companions, Prakruti’s mother and finally court-dancers. There will be another time and place for all this!”