Symbol of sacrifice

THOSE WHO came to the Alliance Francaise recently expecting to see a rural folk performing art form incongruously transposed to an alien setting were in for a surprise. From ten in the morning to eight in the night, the small auditorium transformed into the open grounds of Karambai. As the Theru-k- koothu troupe from this village in Thanjavur played out one of the most horrific yet moving episodes from the Mahabharata, the audience sat glued to their seats.

What was it that made the performance such compulsive viewing? Was it the resonant music (though off key at places that is the dominant feature of this style? Was it the synchronised movement punctuating the flow of the text? That was soothing in its simplicity and repetitiveness. Was it the story - horrendous yet poignant - that spoke of the chilling reality of war which extracts as heavy a toll today as it did then? Was it the sincerity of the rural artistes to whom this was not mere drama but devotional offering and ritual?

Whatever be the reason ``Aravan Kalabali'' presented by Koothu-p- pattarai and the Centre for Development Research and Training (CFDRT), Chennai, was more than the sum of its parts. The sacrifice of young Aravan, the brave son of Arjuna, can be viewed as much more than an incident in an epic. As one of the moderators of the event pointed out, he is the symbol of the price war exacts, a representative of countless innocent youth whom their mothers reluctantly send to the battlefield to be consumed by the insatiable Goddess of War. Through the traditional Koothu, unwittingly perhaps, a modern anti-war message came through.

Better known in South India than the North, the story of Aravan is a popular theme in Theru-k-koothu. Just before the Kurukshetra war begins, Aravan, the heroic young son of Arjuna and the Naga princess Ulupi, is offered to Goddess Kali so that the Pandavas can wield their weapons with power and skill and emerge victorious. Krishna, Arjuna and Aravan are the only three warriors who are worthy of being sacrificed and naturally the choice falls on Aravan. Duryodhana is also advised by Bheeshma to sacrifice Aravan but Krishna tricks him into claiming Aravan for the Pandavas. When Krishna seeks the Pandavas' consent, they are horrified but finally bow to his wishes and arguments. It is Draupadi, maternal feelings roused, who puts up a stiff and touching resistance. Finally, she too is forced to give up the boy to the bloodthirsty Kali. Aravan seeks a boon from Krishna that he will be gifted with vision even after his death to watch the progress of the 18-day war.

Though ``Aravan Kalabali'' (Sacrifice of Aravan in the Battlefield) is staged in Melattur, Kodukizhi and Yervadi villages annually in different forms of Koothu, the Karambai Koothu has its own special features.

Every year for five days in April-May, the village holds its annual festival to seek the grace of Sri Draupadi Amman. Preparations begin months ahead for this is an offering, the villagers believe, will keep drought and disease at bay. ``Aravan Kalabali'' is staged on the 18th day and the ritual performance culminates with Draupadi knotting up her blood- smeared hair.

The audience at the Alliance Francaise had the opportunity of witnessing a performance which though edited, gave the feel of an almost night long event. The vignettes added to the impression of watching a rural performance - the boy who gave an exploratory swirl to Bhima's mace as he took it from the artiste and carried it away, the little helper who kept darting in between Arjuna's dialogue to fasten the anklets that had come undone, the audible prompting of lines by fellow artistes and the visible change of roles as one exhausted artiste walked away and another walked in to take his place.

As in all Theru-k-koothu performances, the female roles were acted out by the men. Draupadi, clad in white with `her' elaborate hairdo and graceful posture, was an example of how elegantly the male artistes carry off the female roles. The arguments of the Pandavas, excepting Bhima, were often not heard clearly through the singing. But once the young Aravan appeared, the enormity of the tragedy hit the viewers. The artistes who played the roles of Kali and Krishna were overcome by the emotional power of their roles and they had to be pacified and revived by the troupe members - very much as they would be on the village stage. The Brahmin who came hobbling in is a figure of fun and distaste which is a comment on caste divisions and the strong feelings it evokes in the rural people. The costumes were different from the Purisai Theru-k-koothu tradition, the white socks the artistes wore evidently assimilated from a Western source. The Kattiyakaran (story teller) here is not an intermittent presence through the performance, connecting the action. He appears in the beginning to tell the audience to avoid making noise and discussing family matters, making us wish we had such a Kattiyakaran to admonish the urban viewers during the sabha performances.

An introduction was held before each segment. N. Chandra and N. Muthuswamy of Koothu-p-pattarai, S. Venkatraman of CFDRT, and Prof. C. Raveendran of Delhi University and Prof. S. Ramaniyam added to the viewers' understanding of the folk performing art and its social context. Dancer Anita Ratnam recounted her experience of resurrecting along with Prof. Ramaniyam the ancient temple ritual theatre Kaisika Natakam in Thirukurungudi village of Tirunelveli. Despite a sensitive approach being consciously adopted, a patronising air could not be eliminated. Talking about the art and the artistes in front of the performers did not seem such a good idea especially as they did not seem to have a clue about what was being discussed - it unnecessarily brought in a `them' and `us' angle.

The Bharat Travels' role in encouraging Theru-k-koothu by including these villages in their tours for Indian and foreign tourists came in for appreciation.

Days after the Koothu is over, Karambai, said Prof. Ramaniyam, vibrates with the songs and music making rhythm an integral part of the life of the villagers. Not just the rhythm but the images too remained with the urban viewers long after the show was over acquainting them with a rich local tradition they might not otherwise be fortunate to witness.

KAUSALYA SANTHANAM

Send this article to Friends by E-Mail

Section  : Entertainment
Previous : A complete change of scene
Next     : Bolstered by a good script