A classy production
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Girish Karnad's "Naga Mandala," under Bhagirathi Narayanan's impeccable direction, was given a fresh perspective, says ELIZABETH ROY.
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The deftly handled "Naga Mandala" with its perfect cast left the audience pleased. — Pic. by K. Pichumani.
THE MADRAS Players' production of "Naga Mandala" was clothed in dignity and much class. The quiet and calm that pervaded the production, perfectly recalled the village where playwright Girish Karnad set his plot, and Bhagirathi Narayanan's direction, impeccable in style and method, freed the script into looking at the two oral tales from a fresh perspective.
With "Naga Mandala," the group broke many a ground rule. It went into collaboration with the Padma Seshadri Schools and Masquerade. It moved out of the customary comfort of the Museum Theatre and into the freedom and openness of the YGP Auditorium, which recreated the spirit of an old village temple and its premises. The main stage flowed out to a small temple on the one side and on the other, to a typically festooned compound with quaint pottikadais.
Mesh of stories
Though "Naga Mandala" is titled `a play with a cobra,' it really is a mesh of many stories. The story is about the playwright who has to stay awake the whole night in the temple, to let a curse pass. He meets a host of giggling flames, each one carrying her own story. Joining them is the `Story' who slipped out of the snoring old hag's mouth. She narrates her tale, that of a young bride, Rani, who is treated as mere property by an indifferent husband, Appanna, and by night, a goddess cherished by a cobra (in Appanna's form). She plunges her hand into the cobra's anthill to save her honour and the child growing inside her.
Karnad's characteristic sophistication asks questions. Did Rani know that the Naga/Appanna who cherished her was not her husband? Did the Naga know she knew? Did Appanna know and when? Does anything matter when a confused village deifies a confused girl? The rest of the story is about Bhagirathi Narayanan rising to the bait to free the play from the pages of a book.
She worked in stylisation, elements of music and dance and symbolism to create objectivity and distance in the minds of the audience. She further split the speeches of Appanna/Naga and Rani and gave their private thoughts to the `Man' and `Story' to narrate. The orchestra on stage brought the evening back to the idea of performance.
The casting was perfect. P. C. Ramakrishna as `Man' and suthradhara was the familiar figure who set the tone for the evening. The audience warmed up to him in participation and anticipation. Gayathri Sriram as the `Story' took the stage with ease and confidence. She complemented Ramakrishna handsomely.
Andrea Jeremiah made a delightful Rani, young and trusting. Her transition to womanhood and divinity was well done. Sunder playing the double role of Appanna and the Naga as Appanna was so finely balanced that it is possible that Rani didn't quite suspect.
Instant rapport
If there was another story the audience wanted to hear, it was Kappanna's (Vidyuth Sreenivasan) and his blind mother's (Sushi Natraj). They established an instant rapport with the audience and provided some interesting pauses that helped the audience catch its breath in the stream of action and to reflect on the flow.
The dog (Mahanth) that barked incessantly drew the loudest applause! The beautiful marvel of the evening was the cobra (Denver Nicholas). His dancer's body painted in silver scales slithered from the anthill up the steps and on to the stage. No reptile could have done it with such grace!
Music scores were carefully chosen by Mohan Narayanan and executed by the students of the school. At times, however, the percussion tended to drown the actors.
The youngsters of the village and the flames were also drawn from among the school students. The flames could have internalised the play, got more involved and given more support to the action.
Sets, designed by Jacob Jebaraj, were simple and elegant. His anthill, besides being authentic, was a beautiful installation brought to life by Bhaskar's lights. The lights, in turn, maintained the soft quality of oil lamps right through the performance and elegantly lit the stage in sections as the action shifted. Costumes from Hyma Ramakrishna were aesthetic and underplayed. The colours merged into the surrounding landscape.
The director could have taken the easy way out by turning "Naga Mandala" into a play about passion and Freudian signs. Instead she did it the only way the translation into English could be handled. She had her audience, every one of the seven nights, leaving the village genuinely pleased, to have seen a good play and enjoyed a good story.
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