In a short span of time, Atul Satya Koushik has written and directed a wide range of plays from thriller to comedy, but he comes into his own when he works with Indian mythology. His plays like RAAVAN KI RAMAYAN, and CHAKRAVYUH have his own take on familiar stories.
His latest, PREM RAMAYAN (staged last at the Natya Dhara Theatre Festival at Royal Opera House), is about some unique love stories from the Ramayan. Everybody knows about Ram and Sita, and the are there in the production too, but very few know about Lord Ram's older sister Shanta and her funny and sweet romance with Rishi Shringi; or the story of Meghnad and his wife Sulochana.
Koushik plays narrator himself and does such a good job of being the kathakar, with his poetic writing, clear diction and effortless connection with the audience, that the song-and-dance interludes seem like a needless interruption.
Actors (Sushmita Mehta, Megha Mathur, Arjun Singh) perform the stories as an accompaniment to Koushik's narration (he also has a podcast on the same theme), and these in turn are juxtaposed with rather Bollywood-ish dance and music. Koushik has picked pieces from classical literature and poetry to add to his own writing, which works very well, but the anachronistic use of ghazals and sufi poetry actually end up disrupting the flow. Surely, with all his research, he could have found more period-appropriate songs. Of course, it is always a pleasure to hear Amir Khusro's Zihal-e-Miskin, but not in the middle of a story from the Ramayan!
As it always happens, when the focus is on the heroes in a story, the women are relegated to the background. Before Dashrath's four sons were born, he had a daughter, Shanta, with Kaushalya. But his desire for a son to succeed him as king was so strong, the poor girl child was neglected by her father. When King Rompad of Angdesh visited, and expressed the desire to adopt Shanta, Dashrath happily packed her off. In Angdesh, Shanta was given and education and also taught the skills of a warrior, and turned out to be as accomplished as any male. When a chaste Brahmin was required for the Putra Kameshthi yagna (ritual for the birth of sons) for Dashrath, the only such man was Rishi Shringi. Shanta's meeting with Shringi was comical; since his father Rishi Vibhandaka had kept him away from women, he had no idea what kind of creature she was. They fell in love and got married, and Shringi performed the yagna that led to the birth of Ram, Bharat, Laxman and Shatrughna.
As interesting as this episode-- which Koushik narrates with warmth and humour-- is the love story of Dashrath and Kaikeyi. The popular perception of Kaikeyi is that of the jealous stepmother, who wanted her son, Bharat, to become King of Ayodhya, so connived to send away Lord Ram to the forest for 14 years. Koushik's different interpretation exonerates Kaikeyi by explaining why she did this, knowing that she would be vilified by history.
Koushik presents the stories of Laxman and his wife Urmila, who has to make the difficult choice of going with her husband to the forest or staying back in the palace, and the touching devotion of Sulochana towards Raavan's son Meghnad.
There are other forgotten women in the Ramayan-- not much is known about Queen Sumitra or Bharat's wife Mandavi or Shatrughna's wife, Shrutakirti. Maybe, Koushik has just touched the surface of a very deep fount of history, mythology and folklore.
(Deepa Gahlot is a journalist, columnist, author and curator. Some of her writings are on deepagahlot.com)
