Women have been worshipped as a mother figure. She is selflessly unconditional in love and affection. Be it a princess or a pauper, a woman is always projected as a piece on the chessboard or the square block thrown ahead in the game of dice. She is clobbered all over and tarnished by the custodians who vow to safeguard the interests of the malefolk. Be it Draupadi, Sita, Savitri, Behula, Ahalya, our heroines and chief protagonists have always been cornered, pleading for clemency.
Right from the rich epical tales of The Ramayana, The Mahabharata, the sacred tomes of the Vedas and Puranas to the historical and religious texts, all have time and again left dime a dozen instances of the fairer sex being dominated in the chauvnistic premises of a male bastion. Though it is a common notion that the female brigade is the weaker of the two sexes, “but ironically, aren’t the women the weakness of the stronger masculine sex?” clamour the berated feminist voices in a bid to decry this general verdict with a big question mark. Perhaps it is time to change the insular perceptions, remove the blinkers of gender biases and defy the superstitious stereotypes.
The latest stage production of Bengal’s distinguished theatre troupe Nandikar brings to light the constant struggle of women in a man’s world. Though the medieval knights in shining armours fought a duel to win a royal damsel’s heart as their beloved, yet they hardly got a wind of her bruised soul. Under the aegis of thespian Rudraprasad Sengupta and wife Swatilekha Sengupta, also a gifted actress and an ace director in her own right, Nandikar’s recent rendition Madhabi has been garnering critical acclaim all over. Considering this is Swatilekha’s directorial debut on stage, her attempt was immensely impressive. The title takes a leaf out of the vast expanse of The Mahabharata, divided into its vividly distinct 18 cantoes. The story of the eponymous play revolves around the chief protagonist Madhabi.
The play was originally written in Hindi as Madhavi by Bhisham Sahni. Sourced from the Udyoga Parva of the Mahabharata, the play recounts the saga of Galab, son of a hermit and a dedicated disciple of Rishi Vishwamitra and Madhavi, daughter of Yayati, the scholar-king. It was first produced by the Delhi-based Prayog Theatre group in 1984. Directed by M.K. Raina, Madhavi was then played by Deepa Sahi. Ever since, the piece has been dramatised in various Indian regional languages. This is the first Bengali production.
Madhabi is a dutiful daughter, sadly victimised at the hands of her fate. Her wretched plight and predicament reflect Yayati’s vanity and the obstinacy of Galab, her lover who insists on offering a gurudakshina to his master Vishwamitra after completing his internship. The cunning and shrewd Vishwamitra demands eight hundred white horses with black ears with a keen to humble his proud disciple. As a result, he asks for eight hundred Ashwamedha horses. Galab is startled by this order and knowing not how to obey his guru’s wish that is his command, he contemplates suicide. But as fate would have its last say in man’s thoughts and action, Galab’s self-destructive intention is foiled by divine intervention which leads him to Yayati’s hermitage. Feeling to be thwarted in fulfilling his mission, the stymied and a reckless Galab eventually approaches an old hoary-haired Yayati, who is known for his munificence. Yayati has abdicated his throne and now lives a humble life of an ascetic. However, Yayati declines Galab’s entreats as he arrives for help, desperately seeking for a solution to his guru’s humongous demand. Unable to bear a refusal to his proposition, an enraged Galab maligns Yayati’s bounteous nature that could satisfy every suitor at his doorstep. Blinded by pride in the mask of his legendary generosity, Yayati’s bloated hubris gets brutally hurt by Galab’s denting allegation. In a fit of huff and haste, he gifts his only beloved daughter Madhavi to Galab as a price in exchange for the pallid Ashwamedhi horses with any royal ruler. Myth has it that Madhabi was endowed with boons of eternal virginity and the gift of begetting sons, destined to be king of kings. Galab then without further ado contracts her to three monarchs, each in turn ready to barter 200 horses for a son born of her. He gets the remainder herd by delivering her to his own guru Rishi Vishwamitra.
Thus follows a great drama of Madhabi in her unyielding quest for Galab’s booty of 800 horses at the cost of her honour and virtue. She is weighed, measured and spent for a man’s cause. Galab is duty-bound to Vishwamitra. Yayati is duty-bound to his dharma of charity. Kings are keen to exploit Madhabi as a surrogate mother to breed the king of kings. And Madhabi is mutely loyal to her father, her lover but where has her own love gone? This question keeps hammering the heads of the onlookers. It pricks the conscience of the contemporary audience, who see the play in the light of present-day context. Much has remained the same in the society since the ages of yore. Right from his primitive existence to today’s post-modern electronic-era, the seven deadly sins have been the mainstay of raw human emotions. It shovels out the darker secrets of the human mind.
Torn into fragments, Madhabi’s heart bleeds but Galab doesn’t realise her innermost turmoil. Her eyes well up but Galab remains unperturbed. Her agonised shrieks can’t reach his ears. Shocked and dumbstruck at her lover’s apathy towards her sorry state and her dilemma between what is good and evil, Madhabi’s mind keeps oscillating in a confused muddle like an ever-dangling pendulum moving to and fro with time.
Blessed as she is with eternal youth, virginity and the ability to conceive great kings, Madhabi is portrayed just as an asset to her father Yayati, who gives her away in an act of kindness to Galab. On the other hand, Galab professing love, uses her to fulfil his duty to appease Vishwamitra. Madhabi doesn’t even get to see the sons she bears for the kings as part of the bargain.
Bringing alive on stage, Madhabi’s character and her sensitive feelings, national award winning actress Sohini Sengupta is expectedly phenomenal. Rudraprasad Sengupta’s trademark high-octane histrionics as Yayati look the part. Debshankar Halder crafts out Galab’s kirdaar from his experiences in theatre. Noticeably, the supporting cast and the junior artistes shine bright with their acting skills and musical talent. Sweets are distributed among the audience when Madhavi delivers her first-born to invite audience-involvement in the show. The musical scores, choreography and the lighting arrangement conjure up a radiantly colourful spectacle on stage.