In the play ‘Kalyanasougandhikam,’ a favourite with Kathakali and Koodiyattam aficionados, there is a scene in which Bhima, the Pandava, while traversing a dense forest, observes an elephant during its peregrinations. He watches in horrified fascination as a monstrous python attempts to swallow the pachyderm from the rear. As the animal fights for survival, it is attacked frontally by a lion which tears open its head to devour the brain. Thus assailed, the elephant succumbs to the two-pronged attack. This episode is both the take-off point and the leitmotif in ‘Bhima’, a non-verbal play presented by Vivek Vijayakumaran and Sachin Gurjale. As the tale progresses, you realise that the metaphor works remarkably well in conveying Bhima’s inner turmoil when pulled simultaneously in opposing directions by conflicting emotions of desire and rage, triggering a tussle between what he wants to do and what he ought to do.
Bhima — the one who possesses the strength of ten thousand elephants. The protector, who carries his family on his shoulders when they are exhausted . Stereotyped as a food-loving giant, good-natured except when provoked, the second of the Pandava brothers is here viewed in contexts beyond those of an obedient son and dutiful brother. In a nuanced interpretation that resounds with empathy, the actor reveals a Bhima whose bouts of introspection undermine his physical might.
Schooled in Koodiyattam, Vivek has choreographed movements rooted in the vocabulary of the 2,000-year-old art form. Yet, his personal vision brings a unique energy to the body language that assumes a distinct identity, communicating raw power. The primal sound of the djembe, a West African drum, suggests a jungle milieu and is an apt accompaniment to vignettes deftly interwoven to craft an absorbing narrative — the escape from the palace of wax, Bhima’s prodigious appetite and enjoyment of food, his marriage to and parting from Hidimbi, the game of dice, banishment to the forest and the final walk to moksha.
Among the many devices that make for effective story-telling are the death throes of the flailing elephant and the variations in Bhima’s stride — war-like, weighed down and dispirited. The use of the uthareeyam (upper cloth) and the violent gesture of flinging it down, signifying the insult to his manhood when Draupadi is disrobed, conveys Bhima’s heightened state of helplessness.
A trail of powerful imagery leaves a churning wake of ‘why’s and ‘what if’s. Does a thinking man allow his mother and siblings to make his decisions for him because he is a product of conditioning? What happens when a mother’s ambition deliberately snuffs out her son’s one chance at true love? What if Bhima had chosen a different destiny by remaining with Hidimbi? Does duty come before love or vice versa?
Live music composed and played by Sachin Gurjale adds experientially to the ambience, as do the background voices of other characters. Manipulating, cleverly insinuating and thereby deliberately conditioning, Kunti’s voice urges Bhima to view Draupadi, of royal lineage, as the kind of wife he should want, overruling his valid objections to the brothers sharing one woman as wife. Stage lighting by Anish Victor merits a special mention. Accentuating the play’s minimalist tone, it creates a matrix of flitting shadows and flickering light that mirrors the chiaroscuro of the protagonist’s mindscape.
The play explores the gap between person and persona. A point frequently emphasised is that love can brighten and lighten one’s life as much as it can weigh it down. In carrying his family physically when they are weary, is Bhima not also bearing the burden of their collective decisions, both right and wrong, metaphorically speaking? By probing the psyche of a warrior riven by angst and regret for what could have been, in the moment of truth which precedes death, the artist has scripted a gripping drama. Bhima’s regret is tinged with his yearning for ‘another life’, another chance at love with a woman whose selfless love he describes as being ‘pure as rain’.
At the heart of the finely layered narrative is a rare honesty that impresses, in tandem with the
tremendous effort that the Koodiyattam discipline demands. Even as the premise of an all-brawn-and- little-brain persona is shot to pieces by an incisive portrayal, the onlooker is drawn inexorably into the vortex of the protagonist’s soul-searching — to empathise, cerebrate and evaluate. Isn’t that what effective communication is all about?
Selected as an entry in the 5th Colombo International Theatre Festival to be held in April 2016,
‘Bhima’ was staged at ‘Spaces’ under the auspices of Our Theatre in association with The New Voices Arts Project and Shoonya – Centre for Art and Somatic Practices.
The story of a tragic hero
A full-time theatre artist, Bangaluru-based Vivek Vijayakumaran trained rigorously for a year and a half in navarasa and in ‘ Ajagarakabalitham ’, the elephant-snake-lion episode from ‘Kalyanasougandhikam,’ under eminent Koodiyattam exponents G. Venu and Sooraj Nambiar at Irinjalakuda.
“The idea for ‘Bhima’ was born in 2011, after reading Ashok Malhotra’s book ‘The Child Man’ and later, M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s ‘Randamoozham’. The play evolved gradually, gathering momentum over the last three months,” says Vivek.
“I find the character of Bhima to be quite tragic, overpowered by the decisions of his family and unable to voice his convictions at significant junctures in his own life. Another factor is that while Arjuna has Krishna and Yudhisthira has Vidura, Bhima has no dedicated mentor. Even Balarama, his teacher, favours Duryodhana.”
“Viewed in a contemporary urban context, I find it interesting that Bhima, child-like and devoid of wiles, does not differentiate between a rakshasi and a high-born princess i.e. Hidimbi and Draupadi, in bestowing his love. I see him as more alive, more present in the reality in which he lives”.
Co-artist Sachin Gurjale has been an integral part of the play’s evolution and execution. “I was already familiar with the djembe. At Irinjalakuda, I observed how the mizhavu percussion fits into the Koodiyattam framework. This provided a blueprint to create a soundscape for ‘Bhima’ using the djembe, thappu (frame drum), didgeridoo (cylindrical pipe) and conch” explains Sachin. “In between, I articulate the words of Kunti, Yudhisthira and Duryodhana. With the creative direction being largely by Vivek, my input lies in exploring subtleties in the Ajagarakabalitham motif.”
