PERFORMANCE
Rite of memory
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Sri Aurobindo's epic `Savitri' is reborn in the hands of Telugu poet and filmmaker Pattabhi Rama Reddy. ADITI DE visits Bijadi to watch the rehearsals of `In the Hour of God'.
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THE waves lap at the edge of the sand, blurring time. If the Arabian Sea, off the Karnataka village of Bijadi, could speak, what would its ebb and flow recall? Scenes beyond the placid life of the local community, the plying of buses to and from Udupi, the toiling fisherfolk who skim the seas.
Mid-October, 2003. A picturesque Bijadi beach house — wood-beamed, Mangalore-tiled — throbs with life. Its theatre-fervent occupants are in the thrall of frenetic activity. In rehearsal for "In the Hour of God", a production inspired by Sri Aurobindo's epic Savitri, celebrating the mythical woman who won back her love Satyavan from Yama or death. The story is reborn through an original cine-script by Pattabhi Rama Reddy, the Telugu poet, who directed the National Award-winning Kannada film, "Samskara", 32 years ago. This play is dedicated to his late wife and its star, the actress-activist Snehalata Reddy, who passed away following an Emergency spell in prison.
But who was Sneha (as her friends called her), whispers the sea breeze. She was a woman who believed in freedom more than her very breath, an icon to Emergency-witnesses, a champion of Dr. Rammanohar Lohia socialism, a crusader for the underdog. A co-founder of the Madras Players in the 1960s, a participant in their staging of Ibsen's "Peer Gynt", Miller's "A View from the Bridge", and Lorca's "The House of Bernarda Alba". Transplanted to Bangalore, she set up the Abhinaya group with fellow-thespian Ashok Mandanna. And invited like minds into her home and her heart. She remains an undying spark to her daughter, the social activist Nandana, and her son, the musician Konarak. And to hundreds of others who still revere her spirit.
At Bijadi, it's a two-month span to stage time. Konarak strums his guitar before a shamiana where the actors block their moves, test their lines. His wife, filmmaker Kirtana Kumar, evolves into Savitri by the day — exuberant and feisty, teasing and sentimental, by turns. Her silver-ringed fingers trace the features of her perfect Satyavan, the denizen of a forest of possibilities, played by New York-honed Sameer Sheikh — a trainer at Bangalore's call centres off-stage. As the key figure of Yama, Shiva Subramanium (who runs the Bangalore arts centre Opus) mulls over the character's potential, the option of threading his invincibility through with vulnerability. Can the threesome cast a theatrical spell?
The supporting cast — who include Bangalore's English theatre veterans Jagdish and Arundhati Raja, Ashok and Hema Mandanna, Tuffy Taraporevala — unite to pay their tribute of talent to Sneha.
The first run-through is electrifying. The layered lyricism and unspoken nuances, the shifting tableaux and athletic movements, fuse to challenge the imagination. Will its innate potential be realised?
Beyond rehearsals, other moments unfold. Watching sunrays silver the wave-crests, Ashok reminisces about the Emergency's defiant underground movement, buoyed by belief in the individual against the system. Tuffy (a.k.a. Savitri's father) coordinates Bangalore media matters over a cell phone under the rustling palms. Shiva and Sameer trade martial arts moves, their limber forms conquering space as they swap life stories. Arundhati arranges a Hot Seat exercise to delve into the depths of each actor/character. Stage manager Sneha Bennurkar stands in as Ashvapati's queen for Hema, whose Bangalore job offers no reprieve. As moonlit beach parties exuberate with song and banter, as the cast and crew dip deep into the waves, then slumber on bed-lined verandahs that woo sea songs, textile designer Julie Kagti rustles up magnificent meals between intense rehearsals, even as she chalks out costume possibilities. Amidst a smoky haze, video designer Challam Bennurkar visualises his stage inputs. But what of Pattabhi's story, cry the seagulls? Serene as he watches his script unfold, he shares his life beyond Telugu films like "Maya Bazaar" and "Bhagyachakram" as breeze-swept fronds wave by his window. "When I was a child on a visit to Pondicherry, I remember what the Mother said: `You will wander around the world, but in the end you'll come back to us.' That's come true through Savitri," he notes gently.
Pattabhi re-spools to a cine-script he crafted over a decade ago, from Aurobindo's magnum opus, the longest epic in the English language. Kannada playwright Chandrasekhar Kambar facilitated core redefinitions, suggesting the folklore character Tenka as Satyavan's brooding shadow, who doubles as Yama. Later, musician Dr. Rajeev Taranath and Jnanpith awardee Dr. U.R. Ananthamurthy (who authored "Samskara") helped to fine-tune script nuances. But film funding proved elusive. Then Konarak and Kirtana, assisted by Dr. Arshia Sattar (who has translated an English Ramayana from Sanskrit), recreated a credible play script. A script that unfolds against the secret life of the sea.
"I was disappointed by the way the mythological Savitri wins Satyavan back through trickery. But in Aurobindo's epic, life defeats death by pure argument. I liked that," reminisces Pattabhi. Where does Konarak fit into the scenario, queries the sand? The youth, who took Bangalore by storm in Mandanna's production of Shaffer's "Equus" 25 years ago, is now recast as the director. Amidst background laughter from the cast unwinding at the in-house bar, he muses, "As a child, I was surrounded by theatre. I like participating in what my mother would have done... Savitri allows us to see life and death from a different perspective. Pattabhi is now 83. I see this as my father's gift to us."
Mid-December 2003. "In the Hour of God" is on the boards at Bangalore's Chowdiah Memorial Hall. A playbill conjures up the right footnotes — through Ananthamurthy's excerpted Emergency prison diary, through Aurobindo's 1959 piece from which the play takes its title, from Nandana's memories: "Sita, Savitri, Sneha. She is our mother. She is love. She is timeless."
Vine-like creepers cascade from overhead beams onstage, evoking the forest ambience. An elevated platform catalyses movement options. Konarak's original score captivates the ear. Tantalising video images on the backdrop — of Pondicherry, of forestscapes — morph into a seamless continuum.
Jagdish in grey robes, as the narrator, Narada, speaks. Of Aurobindo and Pondicherry. Of Savitri, the play and the person. Swiss lighting whiz Daniela Zehnder highlights emotion, as the action spirals towards its ordained conclusion, punctuated by palanquin-borne royal entourages, comic love exchanges and scripted double entendre.
The finale is powerful, borne on a tide of passion. Yama, smitten by Savitri's charms, is bested by her intelligence. Because "In the Hour of God" proved to be more than a mere script, a sentiment, a stage rite of memory.
To the audience and players alike, it was a gift of love to Snehalata Reddy, whose positive beliefs transcend death. As surely as the waves share untold tales among the shifting sands of time.
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