Looking through the photos, Kavita suddenly stopped and asked, “Who is this young lady, the one sitting in the front row among audience?”
Niranjan hesitated. “She… she—”
“I feel like I know her.” said Kavita.
“You? How on earth would you know her?”
“I don’t know. I am finding a lot of things familiar in your village. As if I have been here before. I found your home without asking anyone. I felt like I would find the Geeta in that Konada and I found it.”
“Hmm… Something like a déjà vu?”
“Probably, but Niranjan, who is she?”
“She is my grandfather’s only sister, Janaki.”
“Janaki, the playwright?”
“Oh, how do you know about her?”
“Everyone from that era had decided to kill her by ignoring her. Fellow writers, critics, theatre historians, even her family. Still her references are available in lot of places. She wrote a play on an occult subject.”
“It wasn’t that simple and straightforward.”
“I am aware of the curse. But those are myths. What happened in reality?”
“I can tell you as much as I know. She was the only daughter of the house, pampered by her father and brothers. Trivedi family produced the plays. In one year, they held three large performances. Almost a hundred people worked for them. Theatre touched the lives of every family member. Children grew up backstage. Janaki loved plays too. She wrote one at the tender age of sixteen.”
“What was the story?”
“I don’t know exactly, but it was about seven netherworlds, Nagamandala and spirits and dark forces etc.”
“Oh no!”
“Did you say something?”
“No, no. Go ahead, then what happened?” Kavita urged him to continue.
“That period of our history was the battle between liberals, forward thinking rationalists and traditional religious sanatanis. Both sides always took extreme views to prove their point. Burning a widow on the funeral pyre of her husband was rampant. Caste divide was at its peak. Trivedis were forward thinking liberals. They knew the dangers of promoting such superstitions even in the name of spirituality.”
Niranjan continued, “Initially, Janaki was praised for writing a play in a modern language. Earlier people wrote in Prakrit. But when Bade Baba read her entire script, he was shaken. He felt the land shifting under his feet. There was no way he was going to produce this in a society already cursed with superstition and ignorance.”
“Then?”
“Saptapatal, witchcraft, nagamandal, there was no way that it could be performed on stage. Had anyone ever seen saptapatal or the netherworld in real life? Had any human seen the demons or the Gods to say that demons lived below the ocean and attacked innocent minds. In rural India, where most people could not read or write and called women witches, alleging that they cast evil spells, this type of play would only reinforce age-old superstitions. The uneducated audience that saw the plays thought women who couldn’t produce children were cursed and many other such baseless notions. This type of play coming from a Brahmin family would have endorsed such inhuman views. Sati would have been justified; famine would have been called the wrath of God. There were unlimited negative effects for when one spoke of the dark arts and invoking dark forces, even in the name of the Goddess, Kali. It was unacceptable for liberals who understood modern values and trusted rationalism.”
“Then what happened?”
“Janaki rebelled. She said she would end her life if this play did not get produced. She fell sick with a fever. She had one ritual that she performed since childhood. She went to the Narmada Ghat early in the morning and prayed to the rising sun. Even when her fever was raging, she continued her ritual. The fever intensified and became Vishamjawar (Typhoid).
“Traditional Vaidraj could not cure typhoid. Bade Baba called a doctor located in the city. Everyone decided that they should produce her play to fulfil her last wish. As preparations began with music scores being composed, costumes getting stitched, and readings being held, Janaki began improving. It was a miracle. In few days, she recovered fully. The entire family was happy.
“But during this time, her prayers on the Narmada began increasing. People would see her meditating on the ghat till late in the morning. But no one stopped her. If praying made her feel better, no one had any objection. After all, she had just escaped death.
“But as basic preparation for the play came near completion, almost everyone realized Janaki had become totally aloof.”
“Meaning she was not interested in the play anymore?” Kavita asked.
“No, no. Not just the play. It was as if she had lost interest in life. Almost as if she had become a nun or a sanyasin. She was calm. She was there, but not there at the same time. If anyone questioned her, she would answer patiently and philosophically. No one could pinpoint what was bothering them, but everyone was uneasy with this new Janaki. Just sixteen years old, she should have been enthusiastic about sarees and jewellery, dreams of the future, maybe dreams of a prince that would eventually become her husband. This girl, who was the life of this family, and whose beautiful laughter and chimes from her payal (anklets) echoed throughout the house, suddenly seemed quiet.”
“Then?”
“On the first day of rehearsals, Janaki declared she wanted to adopt total renunciation, join the monastery and become a sanyasin.”
“Oh my god! This part is not recorded anywhere.”
“No one outside of our family was told and no one knows to this day. Everyone was desolate. She was the only daughter of the house, so beautiful and so young. They had dreamed of her marriage and now this. Everyone doted on her. She always had a life of luxury. How will she abide by total renunciation?”
“Then what happened?”
“Obviously, she was not allowed. But she began eating only one meal a day. She would eat whatever was served in the beginning. She never accepted a second helping. She began sleeping on the floor and wearing plain cotton sarees. Prayers and meditation was on as usual. Bade Baba stopped her from going for her early morning visits to the Narmada. Still, it made no difference. Janaki continued her ascetic behaviour. Then, someone suggested they should cancel the play. Maybe this play was the cause of everything. But Janaki was calm. She explained that her going away from the material world had nothing to do with the play. And she also said that in this period of transition, people will lose sight of spirituality and become materialistic. This play has to reach people, or else they will become Godless. But nobody wanted to listen to her. Rehearsals had stopped. It didn’t change anything for Janaki. She went away on a full moon night. Janaki went to her Narmada Maiyya’s lap. She was found three days later. Bade Baba collapsed. He dumped all copies of her play in the Narmada.”
“But, what about the curse?”
“Nothing dramatic happened. But Janaki’s death gave rise to too many rumours, especially about her play. People spoke from different perspectives. It was thought that she indulged in tantra and other dark arts. The Trivedi family was excommunicated. Theatre died but the fortunes of the Trivedi family also dwindled. This confirmed the general opinion that Janaki’s play was cursed.”
“Strange, this is even more bizarre that I had imagined.” Kavita was numb.
“What do you mean?”
“Sanyas? I never thought of total renunciation. Thought of every other option as to what may have happened but this; this is a true twist in her story.”
“Apparently, the rumour of the curse began earlier when Janaki was unwell and preparations began. First the lead composer met with an accident, so the background score was delayed. Then, while making traditional props, one of the artisans broke his fingers under hammer. During the rehearsals that took place typically outside the town, the lead actor who played a female role suffered a snake bite. The launch date had to be shifted many times. And after Janaki recovered she shocked the family and Natakmandali alike with her
decision.
“In today’s world that runs behind money, material wealth and where the core of humans is a Facebook status, it is very difficult to understand Janaki. I have always felt that her play must be spiritual, or philosophical. Somehow, I can’t believe an innocent, God-fearing, sixteen-year-old can write about evil.”
“Even I have felt so. Okay, it’s getting dark, I think I should leave. Thank you Niranjan, but let’s meet tomorrow.”
Kavita left the place confused and totally shocked. The young woman she saw in her dream or hallucination, the one that was praying to the sun looked exactly like Janaki from the black and white photo. All the events of the day had thrown her so off-track that she didn’t even speak to Pragya bhabhi during dinner.
She was so exhausted by work and all those hallucinations, déja vu’s, and the biggest shock of recognizing Janaki that she fell into an immediate deep sleep.
In the confusion and fatigue of the previous night, she must have kept the windows open. The early morning, cool breeze woke her up. She felt fresh and strangely joyous. The sky was visible from the window, and was a riot of all shades of orange and pink. Instead of sliding back into the covers, she felt like going outside and celebrating the new dawn. Like yesterday, Narmada Maiyya cast an odd spell over her.
Wrapping a light shawl around her shoulders, Kavita came out. She didn’t even feel as if she walked, it was like the road passed under her feet and she magically reached the river. She felt the same calmness that she felt on the ghat. Standing in the ankle-deep water, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Slowly, she lost her sense of self and the rigidness of her body. She felt light, very light, as if her body had melted. Even her sense of her own being, a girl known as Kavita melted away. She felt deep calmness and bliss.
In the waters, she saw a radiant, beautiful girl smiling at her.
“Who are you?”
“I am Janaki, and I am Kavita and also probably someone else.”
“I always felt that I was Janaki.”
“It’s you and me, a kindred spirit. Go Kavita, set Janaki’s play free, your play free. That story needs mukti (freedom)!”
“But Janaki, what does it say? Why did you write it? And why did you choose me? I felt as if you chose me or found me, rather than me finding you.”
“My play talks about the mystery that is life itself. How do so many living beings that exist on this planet so perfectly fit with each other? And why is it that only humans are aware of their own existence? All the modern thoughts that were debated in my family did not answer this question. Why are we put on earth? Why are we greedy? Why do we want to accumulate money like the British did? Why are money and success suddenly becoming important? Even Guruji who performed the pooja or wise men who gave spiritual discourses in the evenings couldn’t answer my questions.”
“I can understand that. But why occult?”
“I was restless. I felt adrift without purpose. We talk so much about soul but where is it? And what happens to humans after they die? My elder brother died when I was just ten. We played together till just a day before. He drowned in the Narmada. When I saw his body, I didn’t cry but kept wondering why he wasn’t alive when his entire body was intact. Why couldn’t he breath anymore? What exactly left him? And at what point? If death is the ultimate truth then why do we live? When not one person could give me the right answers, I began reading scriptures. I began following meditation the way old world saints did it. I even danced sometimes to the Hare Krishna chant like Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. Going to the river always had a magical effect on me.”
“Hmmm. It has an effect on me too,” Kavita chirped.
“While praying and performing Dhyan Dharana (meditation) one day, I suddenly felt like I was one with the entire universe. I was both the living and non-living entity. When I came back to reality, I was sweating profusely. And then it came back to me. Nothing is born and nothing dies, we all come from a single source called srot and we go back to it. So greed, envy, competition and cruelty for material gain are useless. What is material gain? Nothing! It’s part of the same srot that we are part of. I had to explain this to the rest of the world.”
“Yes, I understand now.”
“Plays that I had grown up watching seemed like the best medium to reach out to common, illiterate folk. Common people understood metaphors better than philosophical explanations. That is how our scriptures spoke to people. So, I opted for a story that flowed like stories from the Puranas. It had magic and netherworld and demons and apsaras.”
“Oh, it’s sad that your family didn’t understand.”
“I don’t blame them. My family, like most liberals, were coming out of the shackles of superstition after a few hundred years. They hated metaphors. If the story wasn’t from the Mahabharata, then it had to be rational and not a metaphor with magic and angels and vidyadhars and apsaras.”
“But why now? Why is there a need for the play now?”
“The human greed and extreme materialism that I had witnessed is just beginning. Look at where it has taken the world today. In your world, humans have looted mother earth in just 200 years.”
“True!”
“Even now, Kavita, people will understand this metaphor easily. Look at your new age stuff that you read so much. Everything is explained like the mythological story. Go search for our manuscript.”
“But where is the complete play? Where is the manuscript?”
As the sun began to rise, the air around the river became warm. Kavita slowly came back to the present – the real world. She needed to complete her doctorate. Only that would give her enough time and money to research Janaki’s play. She smiled to herself. If she was going to remember each manuscript, just by looking at the cover, her research of the Mahabharata theatre tradition will complete quite fast.
Even while having breakfast, Kavita was preoccupied with Janaki’s drama. Everyone was sceptical about her theme 100 years ago, but are people ready for it now?
She thought about how the mindsets and thought processes have changed over last sixty years. In the early twentieth century, the new thinkers went completely away from God and religion and even spirituality. But advances in science and technology could not satiate the yearnings of the soul. Thus began the search for truth, and the middle path. The new generation came back to the spiritual world. This generation is not stuck in pujas and rituals. Superstitions that once governed everything from birth to death have melted away. But people have begun accepting the universal divine being and this generation understands signs and archetypes. They know God isn’t somewhere on the outside of us. Delve in ourselves and we will recognize our oneness with the creator.
Maybe the audience today is ready for her play.
From that day, Kavita’s days found an almost ritualistic routine. In the morning, she went to the Narmada Ghat and prayed to the sun, the old way, offering water with her cupped hands Anjoli. Then she would have breakfast with Pragya bhabhi before leaving for Niranjan’s haveli.
While there, she would go through all papers and manuscripts. She would sort them and take notes, make a synopsis, and complete translations wherever necessary. She worked almost for nine hours at a stretch, and returned exhausted for dinner again with Pragya bhabhi. It was only during weekends that Pragya bhabhi’s husband would come home. Those days Kavita preferred eating dinner alone in her room, as he was reluctant to strike a conversation with this strange, city girl, who came asking about 100-year-old cursed play.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Slowly, due to her dedication towards finishing base work, Kavita came towards completing what was to be done here for her doctorate. Her magically remembering contents of the manuscripts also helped. Now going back to university, and finishing her thesis is what remained. In the due course, she would be awarded a doctorate.
But as the day of completion neared, Kavita became more and more restless. She had not even come across a scrap or a torn piece fr
om Janaki’s manuscript. Where was it? Everyone said Bade Baba destroyed each copy. But what about Janaki’s own personal copy? Once work here was over, Kavita was not sure if she would be able to return anytime soon. After leaving the village, she would finish her thesis and submit it. She would then wait for her viva and examination by the referees. Once awarded a doctorate, she would have to complete the application for a full-time faculty position and go through the entire process of selection and appointment. Once she takes up a teaching position she will not be able to leave, till one course is taught completely. So basically she knew she will not be able to return to Vishrampur for three to four years.
So, if she was not able to find the play now, chances of her ever finding Janaki’s manuscript were slim. Maybe, that was her destiny.
Eventually, one day, all the data and information she came to collate was gathered, classified and complete. It was finally time to say goodbye. Pragya bhabhi, with her innocent outlook, was sad and didn’t want Kavita to leave.
On the last day, Kavita decided to visit the Narmada River at dawn, one last time. How can she not meet her Narmada Maiyya one last time?
While praying to the sun with her hands folded, offering Anjoli to the sun, Kavita felt Janaki’s presence again. She opened her eyes to see Janaki standing in the water, her smile welcoming and serene.
“Have you forgotten the room where the newborn and the infant’s mothers were housed in the haveli? Remember the sacred space that only women were allowed in for three months? Both mother and baby were considered fit to move out only after three months. That room, the Balantinichi Kholi –remember the new mother’s bed and the wall beside it and the section in the wall, the secret Konada. It was my secret and now it is your secret. “
“How will I know?”
“You will, you remember everything from my memory. Haven’t you realized that yet? How did you find everything in the village without asking? How do you remember all scripts the moment you see the cover? There was no way Bade Baba looked into a new born baby’s room for my copy.”
Arghya Page 3