Re-visiting the Epics, a recent presentation by Miran Productions under Sujata Soni Bali, was an enchanting recap of some popular stories. Utpal K Banerjee reports
India’s two enduring epics, Ramayana and Mahabharata, have the widest imaginable spans in both time and space. Temporally, Ramayana is placed after the Harappan civilisation at the confluence of the third and second millennia BC when the Aryans were consolidating their hold — from North to South across the Vindhyas — over the non-Aryans and over whom they termed rakshasas. The latter were by no means culturally inferior, as the glowing descriptions of Swarna lanka prove. Mahabharata came decidedly later — perhaps at the cusp of the second and first millennia BC — when the entire land was divided among the Aryan janapadas (potentates): busy fighting each other and even waging kinship battles of the magnitude of Kurukshetra. Though the two epics hold sway over the Indian psyche till today, ASI’s many explorations for identifying historical sites of the distant Ramayana have borne little results, but similar efforts to locate Mahabharata sites are more successful.
Spatially speaking, the two epics spread their hold from India over the vast seas to South, South east and East Asia. Many kingdoms of the peninsular Asia named their kings and monarchs Rama-I, Rama-II and so on; there are townships called Ayodhya; the mighty river Mekong flowing through many countries is christened after the Ganga; and music and dance of the entire Asia-Pacific are redolent with the engaging events of Ramayana and Mahabharata. In fact, there is a firm folk-belief in large tracts of the Southeast Asia that at least Ramayana originated there and came to India only later!
Re-visiting the Epics, recent presentation by Miran Productions under Sujata Soni Bali, was an enchanting recapitulation of some of the epic stories in a new garb. Says the director, “I’ve been familiar with our mythology. But when I re-read them for performance purposes, it struck me that some of it is still relatively unfamiliar or even unknown. With the help of Twinkle Pandey, who compiled the script, and Bhavini Misra who choreographed the dance-drama form, I’ve given shape to my ideas.”
The show begins with a melancholy Sita (Bhavini) breaking into ecstatic dance anticipating the victorious Rama’s arrival, like a bird finally un-caged.
Tom Alter’s excellent narrative then introduces Ravana-in-council, where he receives conflicting advice from siblings, Vibhishana and Kumbhakarna, about releasing Sita from his greed and lust.
The unexpected agni pariksha (fire ordeal) follows for Sita, before return. Comments Sujata on their relevance today, “All of us live with Vibhishana in us: counselling righteousness, as well as Kumbhakarna: egging us onto the evil way. We also have a duality in us: comprising Ravana who is not all evil, for, he never touched Sita, while held as protégé; and Rama not all that noble, for, he did foist the hugely-unjust fire-ordeal on his consort and eventually banished her — when pregnant — to the lonely forests.”
Tom Alter then moves on to Draupadi’s utter humiliation in the Kaurava court: a shame for every woman, expressed in demoniac Chhau by a talented ensemble and Dhritarashtra’s subsequent repentance, returning Draupadi (Bhavini) her husband’s and their kingdom.
But Tom also recounts the unheard-of story of Yudhistira agreeing to a second game of dice, just in case he could inflict on Shakuni a final defeat: never achieved!
There is also the unusual episode of the blackberry tree from which Draupadi has plucked ripe fruits, only to be told that she would incur a hungry hermit’s wrath unless she un-plucks her fruits! When nobody is able to help her in doing so, she is asked to atone by unloading a deeply-cherished secret — in this case her fetish for the handsome Karna whom she had disallowed to contest for her hands long ago — a story she never told anybody!
There is a final recital by Chander Khanna of Maithili Sharan Gupt’s magnum opus, Jayadrath Vadh, in a tremulous tone — accompanied by the Kaurabha sapta rathis (seven warriors) executing a macabre death-dance against the valiant, yet unarmed, youth Abhimanyu: caught in chakravyuh.
Relevance to life’s steep hurdles and human helplessness is obvious. But on why sapta rathis were reduced to five, or even four, Sujata pleads for lack of stage-space and, on why Khanna broke into melodramatic tears at the end, she proffers the plea, “He is a very emotional person.” It hardly helped the even keel of stylisation carried through so well, supported by RK Dhingra’s splendid lighting effects: rarely used for dance-drama in the Capital.