If ‘Uthara Swayamvaram’ was melodic and entertaining, ‘Keechaka Vadham’ from the Virata Parva of the Mahabharata as well, was mesmerising. The attakatha (Irayimman Thampi), music (Kottakkal Madhu, Nedumpalli Rammohan), acting (Kalamandalam Balasubrahmanyam as Keechaka, Kalamandalam Rajasekharan as Malini, Sadanam M.N. Harikumar as Valalan, Sadanam Vijayan as Sudeshna) and percussion (Kottakkal Prasad on chenda, Margi Ratnakaran on maddalam) presented artistry at its best.
After the three-hour performance, when I met the actors, I was shocked to see how a soft-spoken Balasubrahmanyam could transform into a pushy, obsessed Keechaka, whose foolishness leads to his death; I recognised his smile, the smile that had carried negative connotations all evening.
The pleasant Rajasekharan Asan, who came across as a passionate teacher and Kathakali enthusiast, had minutes earlier been a scared, disgusted woman (Malini), fobbing off unwelcome advances, and ruing her fate. They look like regular people, unlikely artistes, until their onstage personas reveal their sophistication.
In ‘Keechaka …’ every conversation had a sense of heightened drama. The traditional presentation, thiranottam, of a kathi character (high-born, evil male) is a spectacle alright; but it was Keechaka’s low-pitched growl (alarcha), heard during moments of high emotion, that added a sinister effect to his presence. Keechaka leering at Malini (‘Malinee ruchira guna shalini’, Paadi), telling his sister about his infatuation and his helplessness (‘Sodaree rajnhee’, Dhanyasi) and making advances to her in the most famous romantic padam of the Kathakali repertoire, ‘Harinakshi’ (Khambodi), were delectable moments.
Balasubrahmanyam’s technique with facial muscles — eyes, eyebrows, cheeks, his expressions, agility and his uninhibited portrayals were notable.
In ‘Harinakshi’ Keechaka extols Malini’s beauty, imitates her walk with hip shakes, and wooes her into the bedchamber with elaborate preparations of making the bed, smoothing the mattress, tucking the sheet in, spraying perfume on the bed and dousing himself with it; it was detailed, classy and even humorous, but never vulgar.
Malini’s counters were appropriate; she is first puzzled by the attention and rebuffs his advances when she understands his intentions. She is frightened when sent alone on an errand to Keechaka’s quarters, the soliloquy ‘Kshoneendra pathniyuthe’ (Srigandi) was particularly intense. Once face to face with Keechaka, during ‘Harinakshi’, she recovers her composure and remains strong, as his sweet welcome turns into a blatant proposition which turns violent as he gets more frustrated.
The beauty about these characterisations is that they are never black and white, there are shades of vulnerability, foolishness and humour in the blackest of characters and in the direst of situations, that leaves opinions open-ended. One can only marvel at the sensitivity of the script writers and the artistes, who carry on 150 years later.
Keechaka dies in the final scene as he is tricked into a midnight rendezvous with Malini and is murdered by Velala. Staging a murder on stage is dramatic enough, but Keechaka’s death by strangulation, was a long-drawn out affair, to the accompaniment of a lone chenda, with life ebbing out.