Dervish dances, colourful costumes, charged dialog, a stage peopled with courtiers, as well as commoners of the 15th century Bahamani era, and a general air of intense activity — these were what struck the Mysore audience as they watched the first production of the Jnanpith award recepient, Chandrasekhar Kambar’s latest play, Mahmood Gawan at the Kalamandira in Mysuru , recently.
Mahmoud Gawan was staged on February 22 as part of the five-day National Theatre Festival in Mysore. Interestingly, none of the actors in the troupe are professionals. When I asked the producer H.S. Suresh Babu why he chose this play, he replied, “The Abhiyenthararu is a 26-year old troupe of engineers and engineering students. Every year, we look for a brand new play. This year, we chose Gawan because I felt that it was very relevant to our times -- it reflects the religious and political turmoil we see in the country today.” Prasanna Ramaswamy says of the actors, “I truly feel that they delivered the production design, and the text brilliantly.”
Most of the credit of putting up this commendable stage performance goes to this well-known theatre and film director from Chennai, Prasanna Ramaswamy. She describes her experience of directing this demanding kind of play in the following manner, “Primarily, I work on evocation than showing. Here, the idea was to evoke questions about ourselves as people.” She goes on to add that Kambar’s play, “Holds a key for [her] to humanize the characters, which otherwise can turn into spectacle [especially, when you are staging a historical play],” and traces this human element to “Kambar’s long engagement with folk narratives.” She introduces new scenes to establish a timeline, for instance, in the case of showing how Ahmad Shah grows up, or in providing a clearer idea of how Gawan bonds with the subaltern servant and daughter-figure, Neeli. We see Gawan and Neeli conversing with each other and sharing confidences. Instead of the narrator, Prasanna Ramaswamy uses the chorus to mime the action of war on stage.
Right at the outset, the play draws the audience into the whorl of this deeply troubling historical narrative. The director handles the many dimensions of Gawan’s personality very effectively — on the one hand, we see Gawan’s wonderful political and martial achievements, on the other there is the scholarly side of this splendid administrator. What is more, his humane attitude towards the marginalized people also comes out nicely in the play. Prasanna Ramaswamy underlines Gawan’s radical response to the caste and the class oppression in Bahamani society. In this instance, I must mention the introduction of a chorus-like set of young people who double as citizens, students, work-men, or even “representations starting from horses to killers” all through the play. This is a fine creative touch. This technique makes a strong impact in the vividly choreographed scene of Gawan’s visit to the Khelna region. When Gawan comes to this region to collect taxes, he is welcomed by mahar, out-caste dancers. The bare torsos of men and the black clothes women wear suggest the darkness and deprivation which are a part of their lives. As they dance, they hold big brooms symbolic of their social status. Prasanna Ramaswamy points out that she uses the “Chockamela verse” in this scene to focus on the outcaste mahar element.
Another strategy used in the play also inflects Kambar’s vision a little. The director changes the old man/chorus (sometimes, he turns into Gawan too) in Kambar’s play into a minstrel here. This singer is clad in the typical North-Karnataka white dhotra and wears a huge white rumal on his head. He emerges on the stage from time to time singing songs which comment on the action happening on the stage. He walks onto the stage from among the audience. His main function is to shape the audience’s views. Ramachandra Hadapad’s haunting and powerful voice leaves a deep impact on the audience’s mind.
What is more, an element of Kambar’s play that Prasanna Ramaswamy emphasizes is the women’s presence in history, particularly in this Bahamani history.
In fact, at the end of the play, it is Neeli’s voice of protest and the Begum’s laments and curses that are given more importance than the voice from the sky in this version.
As Gawan sits centre-stage ready to meet his death, Begum and Neeli move upfront pronouncing the doom of this dynasty.
Overall, the play is greatly successful in conveying the idea that the political and the personal overlap. The atmosphere of political unrest, religious tensions, and the breakdown of inter-personal relationships in a long ago and far away historical past of the Bahamani era mirrors our contemporary political, religious, and cultural crises.