Kuchipudi exponent Sailaja presented a refined performance at India Habitat Centre recently. She also paired up with her disciple Aarthi Vasudevan for some of the compositions.
Sailaja, a senior disciple of the late maestro Vempati Chinna Satyam, has established herself in Chennai as a Kuchipudi dancer and teacher of merit. Having also been trained in Bharatanatyam and brought out a book on the 106 Vaishnava shrines in India and Nepal known as the Divya Desams (abodes of Lord Vishnu), she has enriched her art with the refreshing energy that comes with ongoing learning. But what was most in evidence in this recital was that her motivation to keep her art relevant to the perceptions of the contemporary audience has not affected the subtlety of her solo presentation — an approach which due to it rarity today, one is tempted to call ‘old school’.
Today we see a great deal of flamboyance in the presentation of classical dance. Artists feel the need for aurally and visually louder performances. The rationale is that stage performances have to compete with popular entertainment enhanced by digital and electronic technology. To make an impression on audiences used to sounds and colours exploding upon their senses, stage artists sometimes take recourse to excessive mike volume, multi-coloured lights, exaggerated abhinaya and superfast footwork accompanied by thundering jati recitation.
Sailaja’s recital, on the contrary, was impressive for its subtlety and restraint in presentation. The lively nritta was characterised by clean lines, the graceful bending and dips typical of Kuchipudi and a serene facial expression. As for abhinaya, it was here that Sailaja exemplified the principle that understatement can be more telling than hyperbole. Hyperbole, in the context of classical dance abhinaya, could be construed as caricature. And the line between portraying an emotion to its depths and overdoing it is not always easy to adhere to when the performance is in high gear.
In this context, the outstanding presentation of the evening was the Tyagaraja kriti “Ksheerasagara shayana,” choreographed by her guru Vempati Chinna Satyam. It was a wonderful amalgam of the unselfconscious and unquenchable bhakti of the saint composer on the one hand, and the genius of the Kuchipudi maestro in transposing the musical and lyrical expressions into dance.
In the kriti the devotee addresses the Lord as one who came to the rescue of many, such as Gajendra the elephant from the lethal jaws of a crocodile, of Draupadi when she was being disrobed in the Kaurava court and Sita who had been taken to Lanka by Ravana. Can you not take pity on me too, implores the devotee.
Apart from the story of Gajendra who enters a river and is caught unawares by the crocodile, which was dramatically depicted, the depictions of the horrifying episode from the Mahabharata, of Draupadi’s insult before the elders of Hastinapur, and of Sita’s abduction by Ravana, left a lasting impression. While the credit goes to the guru who set the dance composition in such a way as to maintain the tension in these scenes without overstepping the prescriptions of classical dance, one must also commend Sailaja for executing them with communicative abhinaya and a sustained dignity.
The Mahabharata episode begins with the dice game between Duryodhana and Yudhisthira. Just as her Ravana was not a comic book ten-headed monster, Sailaja’s execution of the dice game too stayed clear of the clichéd representation of characters and situations. No loud, shoulder shaking laughter of victors or overplayed drama of the dice roll. One cliché remained though, and the dancer might consider a different treatment, even if it means intervening in the choreography of the late guru. Shakuni the evil uncle of Duryodhana is almost always shown walking with a limp. This physical disability is equated with his deviousness, and in an age of inclusion, such an attitude merits a re-look.
Watching a depiction of the assault on Draupadi is always a hair-raising experience, as this story never stops being relevant in our heinously inclined world. Again, Sailaja’s portrayal steered away from overdoing the evil grossness of Dushasana, his ultimate exhaustion as the sari unravels endlessly without uncovering Draupadi, or even the horror and fear felt by Draupadi. But the art was in maintaining the intensity of those terrible moments.
Other dance pieces presented at the performance included Swati Tirunal’s “Shankara Srigiri”, a swaravali composed by Bhagavatula Seetharama Sarma and verses from the Mahishasura Mardini stotra. These were all choreographed by Sailaja. Though neatly presented, the nritta portion in the compositions did contain some postures and adavus which, while they may not have been identical, lent a repetitive feel.
In the depiction of Mahishasura Mardini (the goddess who slays the demon Mahishasura), the juxtaposition of the epithets ‘Mahishasura slayer’, ‘she of the beautiful tresses’ and ‘daughter of the mountain’ poses a challenge. While the first refers to her capacity to overcome violence with violence, the second and third remind us of her beauty and her position as the spirit of nature — which incline us towards peace. The stress in this presentation — and in other choreographic works based on this hymn one has seen — was more on the goddess who punishes the evildoer, while her other aspects were less explored.
Sailaja’s student Aarthi Vasudevan did a good job of accompanying her teacher as a duet partner. The painstaking work of both disciple and guru in terms of building form and flow was in evidence.
The dancers performed to a recorded soundtrack featuring various voices and instrumentalists. On the nattuvangam was Sailaja herself for some of the compositions, while others were conducted by Srilatha or Kishore; vocalists included Randhini Aravindh, N. Srikanth, Vasudha Ravi and S.R. Veeraraghavan; the mridangam artists were Nagai Sriram and Hari Babu; violinists included Ananthakrishnan and M.S. Kannan; and flute accompaniment was by Vinoth, Devaraj and Ramanan for the different pieces.
