There are very few theatre enterprises from outside Mumbai that can boast of the kind of instant — and distinctly reverential — name recall of Puducherry’s Adishakti Theatre. Some of the country’s most relentlessly experimental works have been forged at the foundry. Its repute is in part due to the stature of its founder, the late Veenapani Chawla, and her innovative theatre workshops that have been undertaken by at least two generations of theatre-makers, including countless numbers from Mumbai. Since Chawla’s passing in 2014, trusted lieutenants like Vinay Kumar and Nimmy Raphael have taken up affairs to ensure that the legacy of their work does not diminish in any way.
This weekend, the group makes a rare appearance in Mumbai, and will perform two of their plays, Brhannala and The Tenth Head . Both are named after references in the great epics with the former dealing with Arjuna’s year of exile in the guise of a woman and the latter the latter preoccupied with the heads of Ravana. The traditional material has been imbued with the contemporary physicality of the principal performer (Kumar) and metaphysical underpinnings that are perhaps more germane to these times than any other.
The feminine self
Bhrannala was first performed in 1998, after Chawla’s year-long exploration seeking connections between contemporary performance and the ancient ‘temple theatre’ form of koodiyattam. This was funded by a grant from the India Foundation for the Arts. While the distinctive gestural elements and unique breathing techniques of koodiyattam are visible – along with the wall of percussion that accompanies it – the play has a physical language all of its own, full of the kind of visceral elements that make it seem fresh and unfamiliar. As legend goes, Arjuna embodies the ardhanarishvara (the dual form of Shiva and Parvati) and as a performer Kumar tries to locate this in the psyche rather than the structures of the body. “I try to find the feminine inside me,” he says.
Other than the traditional, the piece has had other intriguing take-off points. For instance, Kumar recounts an interesting anecdote of how Chawla introduced him to the cartoon series Tom and Jerry. Its iconic title characters’ almost preternatural rivalry, and the slapstick interludes that allowed for such a profusion of rapidly transposed personas, became fodder for the two intrepid minds. “We were able to extrapolate that conflict into a juxtaposition of the canine and the feline that is an important part of the performance,” says Kumar. A comic encounter between a dog and a tiger in the play ultimately helps in delineating the duality of gender and the polarities it represents.
Over the course of almost two decades, the play has been performed more than 250 times. “We lost count after a point,” says Kumar. “But it is a work that has certainly evolved over the years, and its politics never loses relevance.” A certain amorphousness and flexibility in their dialectic allows Adishakti productions to remain topical even years after conception, which is why none of their productions have ever folded. In this play, some textual tweaks — for instance, a fleeting reference to Section 377 — places it resolutely within the realm of contemporary queer discourse. This doesn’t feel like tokenism because materially, the piece has already embraced the complexities that come with the turf with an all-encompassing theatricality.
Finding middle ground
The Tenth Head, also directed by Chawla, is a fairly recent production from 2013. The eternal conundrum it ostensibly seeks to address is one that is often overlooked — how Ravana’s ten heads are balanced on both sides of the central countenance. It is a perplexing piece of math; four on one side, and five on the other. Yet it allowed Chawla and Kumar to look at the idea of collective thought, and within that, the spectre of individualism. In a world that has become almost irrevocably polarised, the piece seeks to restore a notion of the ‘middle ground’. “More than the proposition, it is sometimes the opposing argument that is the most important part of a debate. We look at how a counterpoint should always be present.” An advocacy of conciliatory means may not sit entirely well with those standing in direct opposition to the wave of ultra-nationalism, but it could well prove to be a conversation-starter. The conjoined heads of Ravana have no choice other than to sit at the same table. As in Bhrannala , Kumar’s persona here is that of a child-like sensuous being. His playful courtship of Sita (Raphael, only visible by her hands) sets up an inventively illuminated set-piece. The play also employs animated projections to allow for a strangely augmented experience that, more than anything, speaks of how such an organisation, rooted in a so-called traditional ethos, can be open to technology, and even fluent in its execution.
The snatches of text employed in The Tenth Head present a stream of raw guttural ideas, the simplicity belying the deeper philosophical ideas that they are surreptitiously planting into the arena. Which is why the works demand a certain investment on the part of the viewer. Some may out come out of the experience transformed and even chastened, but others are equally likely to feel short-changed, as responses to their 2013 outing indicated. The two works are well anchored by Kumar’s winning charisma and it is certainly heartening that they also do not cater to any specific notions of spectatorship.
Brhannala will be stagedon April 15, at 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. and The Tenth Head will be staged on April 16, at 5 p.m. and 8 p.m. at Prithvi Theatre, Juhu. More details at bookmyshow.com
