‘Yamuna,’ a 90-minute solo act was an English play, served in an Indian way. The context was Indian but importantly, the delivery of the monologue had a natural, conversational style, much like “I will speak in English since you prefer it.” Interestingly this is script-writer-director Vedarun Rajkumar’s first full-length play in English, the others having been in Tamil. The dramatisation included the mono-acting technique, which is predominantly used in Indian classical dance.
‘Yamuna’ is about a young woman’s journey, about abusive relationships and the guilt high achievers carry with them. Yamuna is a Math prodigy and a talented Bharatanatyam dancer, who is obsessed with symmetry in science, art and beyond. Having grown up in Chidambaram, she is attached to the temple deity, Nataraja. She has a childhood friend Natraj, who seems to dominate her memories of childhood and growing years. The friendship grows into a teen romance and her dependence on him increases. A tragedy changes her life forever — her father dies on her 18th birthday. Her mother turns on her — accusing her of being a curse to the family, of ‘eating up her twin in the womb...’ etc. Natraj leaves town for college, his selfish, insecure personality already palpable.
Complex problem
Yamuna cuts all ties and leaves town, starting a new life teaching dance and studying mathematics, while financially supporting her mother. Six years pass and Natraj re-enters her life. Old flame still flickering, she agrees to be the ‘face’ for his business since he cannot afford a celebrity. They marry and are happy, until Natraj’s business crashes. Yamuna’s guilt compels her to stick with him, and to help him, no matter his behaviour, until ultimately she snaps out of it, when she finds the solution to a complex mathematical problem in her dream.
Vedarun’s script alternated between the emotionally intense autobiography, information about mathematicians like Galois, Mathematical theories, the allusions to symmetry in dance, in life, and periodic philosophical interjections.
Figuring out the devil was his favourite, sample this: ‘Devil they say is in the details, what an obnoxious phrase. God, girls, is in the details. Devil built his palace of mediocrity in the absence of detail. Devil savours lethargy... ’ There were more references to the devil along the way, but Yamuna concluded the play with her final, ‘The devil is not in the details, the bloody devil is in believing your own lies.’
The language was dramatic — while teaching Nataraja’s Ananda Tandava in class Yamuna says, ‘No matter what fire consumes your heart right now or what flames burn your soul at this moment, focus only on the pleasant smile on his face…’ Vedarun’s script also teased the viewer about Natraj — was it the friend/ husband or the deity Yamuna was referring to? There were also lines that could physically hurt you — picture Yamuna's mother hysterically weeping one moment, and in the next, as a voice over, she turns to Yamuna saying, ‘Happy Birthday Yamuna... you are a curse…’ The under currents were powerful.
Preethi Bharadwaj as the naïve, hopelessly romantic Yamuna carried this layered, complex script with agility, perfect articulation and intensity. She was dressed in a plain black kurta-churidar and was de-glamourised to the point of wearing spectacles. The rest of the stage was in black as well. Minimal props, subdued mood lighting (Gowtham) and sensitive live keyboard accompaniment (Bhadri Narayan) tiptoed around the emotional upheavals as though stepping on eggshells. Creatives were by Akila Venkat and Rohit Bhasi. Yamuna was a psychological thriller with a happy ending.
