`Therukkoothu is doubly blessed'
CHAMAN AHUJA
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Director K.S. Rajendran talks about how the Therukkoothu version of Subramania Bharati's "Panchali Shapatham" was performed in Hindi.
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Lots of classical overtones but no set rules: Scenes from the Therukkoothu-rendition of "Panchali Shapatham", directed by K.S. Rajendran
For six weeks in November-December 2006, the remote village of Kadavur (Madurai) was agog with hectic theatrical activity. Students from the National School of Drama were at a theatre workshop, which eventually yielded a Therukkoothu-rendition of Subramania Bharati's epic-poem, "Panchali Shapatham", under the direction of K.S. Rajendran.
Although primarily a students' production, Tamil audiences hailed it as a masterpiece; while theatre circles in Delhi applauded it as path-breaking experiment. Here was a play in Hindi that followed the Therukoothu tradition under the guidance of one of the art's greatest living exponents, Purisai K. Sambanda Thambiran. There was a general feeling that "Panchali Shapatham" could serve as a model because here was the work of a director rooted in theory and practice who, besides being a teacher of NSD, had worked with top gurus and established institutions. Excerpts from an interview with Rajendran.
I have seen several Therukkoothu performances but your production gave me a real feel of the form. Perhaps here is a model in demonstrating how Sanskrit dramaturgy can be yoked into folk performance. Where do you place Therukkoothu: is it classical or folk theatre?
I don't believe in such straitjacketing. These categories were evolved in the West by the so-called orientalists and Indologists. Our shastras don't have such terms. True, there are references to Margi and Desi, but there is no such thing as Shastriya Sangeet or Shastriya Natak. Anyway, Therukkoothu is doubly blessed: it has lots of classical overtones and yet has the advantage of not being frozen into set rules. My word for both classical and folk theatres is parampara.
As a specialist in ancient Indian theatre and as someone inspired by Therukkoothu, what do you find common between the two and what makes them distinct?
While scholars spend a lifetime understanding Bharata's theatre, the best of traditional performers may not have even a nodding acquaintance with Natyashastra. As for distinctive features, all the traditional forms have the same elements of vachika, angika, bhavas; they differ only in the configuration of these elements. Therukkoothu, for example, has tall headgear, arm and shoulder bands, and richly painted facemasks. As the headgear is made of heavy wood, not papier-mβchι, it has to be tied to the hair of the performer — that explains the long hair. As for the "performance function", there are peculiar patterns of adavus (basic steps), viruttam (narrative style), vigorous dances with highly synchronised rhythmic footwork, energetic music that involves singing and recitation, a curtain that mystifies rather than conceals the newly arrived or departing character(s). Above all, there is no set design; instead, we have a visual design that a performer carries as he moves. The focus is on stylised and exaggerative depiction of bhavas; there is no realistic characterisation, as the West understands it.
Why the straw-girdle round the waist, littering the stage with straw. Why not a plastic frame instead?
That is not straw but paddy-grass. Besides being eco-friendly, it is locally available. In using paddy grass, I am not being a purist. A purist, I believe, is a mentally blind fellow, whereas I insist on my students always retaining what I call contemporary critical consciousness at all costs, at all places.
What specific rasa did you aim at in "Panchali Shapatham"?
We aimed at nothing. We are not obsessed with rasas. I believe Rasa-Sidhanta has been overdone. Our assumption is that if there is a rasa in the text, it will come out automatically in the performance; we don't have to aim or work towards it. When playing Draupadi, one of the girls used to weep uncontrollably. If you have some theoretical explanation for it, fine. We did not start with a pre-determined rasa. Only the Sanskrit pundits are obsessed with rasas.
Going by the final moments of "Panchali Shapatham", I felt here was a play with Raudra-rasa.
If you feel that way, I'll accept it gladly. But that wasn't pre-determined. To play Draupadi, we had three girls on different evenings. Each had her own approach. When taking the vow, one just delivered her lines convincingly; another was more stylised in delivery while the third would go round furiously in circles. I did not tell them to do things for the sake of a specific rasa. Incidentally, that reminds me of an interesting thing. Recently I heard my students talking of Rasa-box. It appears that a teacher at the school had talked about Richard Schechner's "Rasaesthetics" with nine boxes, one for each rasa, all built around Shanta-box in the centre. At any given point, a performer is expected to reach the box that corresponds to the rasa that he/she is supposed to be working on. Personally, I am more amused than edified by this theory. In fact, I don't agree with most things that Schechaner has been saying. I agree with him, however, when he avers that Natyashastra is more practised than read in India.
In this project, with Guru Thambiran, what was your role as a director?
I always prefer collaborative creative ventures, as they are rewarding: they bring poets, composers, singers and performers — both traditional and modern — together to share, agree/disagree, learn/unlearn and evolve a performance-language that does not speak one `language' but many — poetry, narrative, dance and music. Our starting point was not a ready-made, well-written play-text. We tried koothu version of "Draupadi Vastraharan" and rendered in recitation Bharati's powerful dramatic-poem in a Hindi translation. My students evolved much of the text during the rehearsals. My concern was to emphasise physical activity rather than presentation of the literary text. My students were simply fascinated with Therukkoothu and there was little I could do to stop them from singing and dancing koothu songs and steps while bathing, eating, travelling and, of course, rehearsing. The question of relevance of traditional theatre form appeared irrelevant to me. Therefore, my directorial intervention was minimal.
What exactly was your role then?
My role here was practically the same as in any other production — not to direct or dictate but to facilitate. I prepare my performance-text in detail but I keep it to myself. I don't believe in imposing things on my performers; I leave it to them to select their own ways. Only when I feel that a performer is not in consonance with the overall spirit of the play or the scene or when the chosen way is unlikely to go well with the audience, I share my perception and goad the performer(s) to come out with an alternative. Thus, I believe, I am only a representative of the audience. Very rarely, only when absolutely necessary, I come out with my performance-text. If I dictate, I shall be encroaching upon the right of the performer, thus denying him his share of joy as a creative artist. That I will never do, I cannot do, because that is what I don't want any one to do to me.
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