I am not supposed to be talking about this. If anybody gets
to know that I am going around telling this to people, the Chairman’s henchmen
will take ‘good care’ of me. Yet, I am incapable of holding secrets. I have
never been good at it. Technically speaking, what I am about to tell you isn’t
even a secret. Even Kaaluru’s kids speak about it. There has been very little
of anything else which has been spoken of in Kaaluru in the last three – four
months. But then, telling an outsider is an entirely different ballgame, isn’t
it? When I am telling you this, I am
binding you to an oath of secrecy. It stays between the two of us. (Sadly, I
have used this line with multiple people already. Now, don’t go asking around
who I’ve told this to!)
Let me begin from the beginning…
I had just finished my degree from a college in Bengaluru.
Since there was some time before joining my company, I came home to spend a few
weeks with family – away from the city-rush. Life slowed down considerably in
Kaaluru. Even internet speeds! A few of my friends and I were first-generation
Bengaluru educated people. This made us a class-apart in Kaaluru. Some of the
high-school goers came to us asking for guidance, prodded by their parents.
Though we couldn’t tell them all that we did in Bengaluru (I am not telling you
either), we did our best to provide some sort of career counselling. In fact,
when I came back for a vacation after my first semester, our headmaster in
Kaaluru’s high school invited me as a guest to provide students with some
‘inspiration’. Oh! I tend to talk too much. Pull me back on track the next time
I digress.
With Holi nearly a month away, all village elders and a few
responsible citizens decided to meet in the Panchayat office to discuss the
modalities of celebration. Some of the elders asked my father to take me along
as well. Perhaps they were seeking ‘validation’. I was a little surprised about
why the meeting was being convened – for as long as I can remember, there had
been hardly any change in the celebrations. It is the same set of people who
perform the puja year after year. The same set of people enacts the death and
burning of Kama, with Rati beating her chest over her husband’s body. That is
the one night I never miss. One hears the crassest and crudest of expletives
thrown around by Rati, accusing all and sundry for Kama’s death. They update
their lines every year depending on the latest gossip. I had invited some of my
friends from college one year for the celebrations. Suffice to say some of
them, the girls specially, were scandalized! I decided to accompany my father
to the meeting, wondering what was in the offing.
Chairman Krishnegowda started the proceedings. ‘Respected
gentlemen of Kaaluru; also, the Bengaluru-educated young man who is with us
today’ he said, smiling at me. I returned the smile with folded hands,
uncomfortable at the attention. Krishnegowda continued ‘Holi is fast
approaching. For the last several years, we have been having the same set of
rituals and games for the festival. I am sure all of us enjoy it afresh
everytime. Yet, I, as your Chairman, want to do something more. Let us stand
out among all the other surrounding villages. I want Kaaluru’s name to be
mentioned in the newspapers for its celebrations. It is time for change.’ He
paused, assessing the mood of those who had gathered in the office. People
began murmuring and whispering, trying to guess what the Chairman had to offer.
Some even commented that Krishnegowda was harboring plans of standing in the
Assembly elections, which were fast approaching and hence was taking this
effort to ‘stand out’.
‘Gentleman,’ Krishnegowda said ‘for the last several years,
Kaaluru has not seen a good play. Gone are the days when we would erect a stage
in the school grounds around Sankranti. Gone are the days when our own people –
Nagesh, Muniswamy, Achar or Ahmed – went on stage and performed to whistles and
applause. I don’t think this Bengaluru-educated young man even remembers those
days.’
‘All that is fine, Chairman sir. What is your point?’ my
father asked, tired of this campaign-style speech.
‘I am coming to the point. I suggest that we perform a play
this year for Holi. Let us build a stage. Get the sceneries and lights. Let us
raise the curtain once again and recreate those days. What do you people
suggest?’ the Chairman paused, having placed the idea in front of the people. People
began talking to each other, nodding their heads in agreement.
Even before anyone could express their opinion, Krishnegowda
started again. ‘Let me introduce to you: Srinivas Master’ he said, pointing to
the person sitting in the corner of the room. None of us had noticed the
stranger sitting there until then. Srinivas Master was renowned in the village
theatre circuit, he said. Hence, he had arranged for him to come to Kaaluru all
the way from Hassan. His stay would be arranged in Krishnegowda’s house until
the play was performed. Krishnegowda was going the extra mile.
Master was a handsome looking man, in his forties. Tall, lean,
he had the personality suited for a hero. His shoulder-length curly hair was well-oiled.
He wore a stud in his left ear. A thin moustache outlined his upper lip.
Wearing a white dhoti and kurta along with a black overcoat, he sat there
chewing paan. After Krishnegowda’s introduction, Master stood up, folded
his hands in a dramatic fashion and began to speak. Ah! What a voice it was!
Years of training had gone into honing that baritone.
Since it had been a long time since we had last performed a
play, we would choose a well-known script, Master said. That would be easy to
follow for the actors as well as the audience. We would enact episodes from the
Mahabharata – slaying of Kichaka, Kauravas’ bid to capture Virata’s cattle,
followed by Krishna’s peace mission. Casting would take place over the next
week. Master sat down and Krishnegowda stood up to speak again. ‘I request
Srinivas Master to make one provision: please include our Bengaluru boy in the
cast as the Sutradhara. He has seen and performed plays in the city. Let
him also get a taste of how village theatre is.’ I stood up to protest. Not
that I did not want to act. I was just a little embarrassed by how things had
turned out. ‘Don’t worry, son. Your grandfather gave me a chance to act in
plays when I was your age. I am only returning the favor’ Krishnegowda said,
putting an end to all discussion.
Overnight, Srinivas Master became the talk of the town.
People kept streaming in and out of Krishnegowda’s house to spend a few minutes
with Master. Women – married and unmarried – found some pretext to come and
talk to Krishnegowda’s wife or his daughter, just to catch a glimpse of him. I
too was under his spell and spent most of the day with him. He had a well-tuned
harmonium and would break into a song every now and then. I assisted him in
editing the script he had brought along. Besides, we had to write new lines,
with contemporary punches for the Sutradhara. This way, even I got a
chance to meet with the womenfolk of the village.
Master was under an obligation and hence, cast Krishnegowda
as Krishna in the play. Our neighbor Shastri was cast as Draupadi, given his
fair complexion and thin body. Achar, Narayana, Muniswamy, Babu and several
others were cast as well. Krishnegowda also asked Master to maintain some
representation from the Muslim community. He wanted to show that in Kaaluru,
Muslims could act as Hindu mythological characters without hesitation. Thus, it
was decided that Muneer and Pasha would play Nakula and Sahadeva.
To be continued...
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