Ranjana Gauhar’s Sita, Kaikeyi, Surpanakha and Mandodari voiced their protest against a society where the male is expected to have a final say and the female is expected to sacrifice. By Utpal K Banerjee
Since the most ancient times, sati has been India’s traditional metaphor of unwanted and totally unwarranted sacrifice of women on the funeral pyres of their deceased husbands — after being drugged, or physically pushed, into the fire. Whatever the apparent reason — property, jewellery or sheer observance of rites — the root motivation has been the ego, engendering an all-pervading sense of masculine superiority. So, when Sita, the principal character in the dance-drama Tejasa: Women from the Ramayana, cries out: I’m Sita, not sati, she is expressing the centuries-old, repressed anguish: against all the injustice and ignominy piled over her gender.
Tejasa, recently presented by Utsav, Ranjana’s Dance Academy, in that sense crystallises a legitimate protest, voiced against the accumulated hubris of the skewed society where the male must have the final say and the female must always sacrifice. The four mythological characters, from our earliest epic, make for four female prototypes. First, it is Sita, the princess, who must undergo the fire-ordeal to establish her chastity and dislodge the stigma of being “soiled” — until she finally revolts and seeks refuge into the womb of Mother Earth, where she came from. Second, it is Kaikeyi, the Ayodhya queen, who had earned two boons which she, howsoever ill-advisedly, uses to get her son Bharata the kingdom and send Rama to a long exile; but, later, she is rejected by Bharata himself for having hitched the heinous plot. Third, it is Surpanakha, the beautiful demon, who avenges her husband’s killing by her brother Ravana and hatches a plot for instigating him to abduct Sita: in order to draw Rama in a battle and thereby invite sure death. Finally, it is Mandodari, the beautiful queen, who is the most palpable victim of gender discrimination: when her consort Ravana offers — though unaccepted — the position of Patrani (principal queen) to Sita and make Mandodari her daasi (slave).
Tejasa establishes these four prototypes through danseuses executing four chiselled classical dance forms. Ranjana Gauhar, as Sita, remains the main character and the cardinal voice of the dance drama; with her striking Odissi postures throughout. Uma Dogra, the veteran Kathak-dancer as Kaikeyi, is perhaps a weak link with her lokadharmi abhinaya (playing to the gallery) and also because her subsequent humiliation by Bharata is not referred to, although needed in the theme’s interest. Gopika Varma, as a Mohiniyattam Surpanakha, makes a striking presence and the episode of her husband’s killing — alluded to only in South Indian folk versions of Ramayana — is well enacted. Deepika Reddy, the petite Kuchipudi dancer, is a vivacious Mandodari, but a little let down by her narrative text, reiterating: Main Mandodari hun: umpteen times, without any logic. Music is adequate, but projected images — an uneven pastiche of miniature paintings, sculpted grottos and calendar art — could have been better planned. On the whole, it was a show with a positive purpose, and a joy to behold.
Q & A with director Ranjana Gauhar:
What were the main literary sources of your productionIJ
It was dominantly Tulsidas’ Ramcharit Manas. We set it in only Hindi and English, with Suryakanthi Tripathi, the erstwhile DG of ICCR, threading the English narrative. Gopika supplied some text additions from Kerala and so did Deepika from Andhra for their respective roles.
How about musicIJ
We retained the music of all the original classical forms. Thus, Odissi had pure Odissi music, specially composed by Saroj Mohanty, who also coordinated the entire musical scene. We also used the classical accompaniments of musical instruments for each style.
How did you visualise the four charactersIJ
Sita was the most prominent one and strongest of the lot. I kept a 13-minute segment for her childhood and youth to depict her playfulness, her tender interests in nature and her musical inclinations. She had a happy and normal upbringing — nothing to prepare her for her later trauma of suffering and humiliations: in terms of repeated agni parikshas (fire ordeals)!
What was your main motivationIJ
All the women here stand up — or down — vis-à-vis their counterparts of husbands. In that sense, it is the primordial relationship between man and woman, purusha and prakriti. Only Mandodari has the third woman issue. Sita’s wailing: I’m Sita, not sati: gave a strong message…When you are trying to snuff out a woman, she’ll protest! Sati is here a symbol of ultimate calumny. No woman should enter fire!