Aconversation with a Scottish friend soon had us discussing the two ‘faces’ of Scotland— one of which is the mystical Northern side that speaks Gaelic, plays the bagpipes and is deeply enmeshed in Celtic folklore. One was sucked into the world of the famed Loch Ness monster and the Banshee or Bean Siddhi that wails its heart out when it senses death in the vicinity. Dadga, the benign God of abundance can usher in seasons courtesy his animate harp and his daughters, all of whom go by the name Brigid, have their own unique credentials— one being the Goddess of fire, and correspondingly radiance, and another a distinguished virgin saint. A la the hydra, the seven pigs of Manannan have the miraculous ability to regenerate as soon as one of them is culled and Aanbars, the beautiful mare of the same, goes as fleetly on water as on land.
The talk had me reflecting on a few of our own folklores, one of which was modeled by German writer Thomas Mann into ‘Transposed Heads’, which in turn was recreated by Playwright Girish Karnad into ‘Hayavadana’. The multi-layered play chronicles the tale of the beautiful and witty Padmini, who is married to bookish intellectual Devadatta, with his rough hewn albeit golden-hearted friend, Kapila playing Cupid. There is a hint that Padmini is drawn towards Kapila after she is married. Devadatta, who suspects this, severs his head off at a Kali temple whilst on an expedition.
On discovering his dead friend’s body, Kapila too sacrifices himself at the altar. Padmini, who arrives to find the two in this state, fixes the heads atop the bodies, ostensibly under the instructions of Goddess Kali. Owing to paucity of light, Padmini inadvertently transposes the heads of the two men. Amidst tricky questions as to who her legal spouse is now, the paternity of the child she is carrying, anthropomorphism involving dolls and a sub plot comprising the predicament of Hayavadana — an entity that is half- horse, half- man — the play concludes.
In another myth from Mahabharata, ‘Yayati’ (incidentally, another of Karnad’s plays), the powerful King Yayati is scourged with old age when still in his prime. Yayati opts for an alternate situation, wherein he exchanges his senescence with his son Puru’s youth. After a period of debauchery, Yayati rescinds his decision, gives Puru back his green age and in an act symbolic of renunciation of worldly life, goes off to the forests, leaving the latter in charge of his kingdom. In today’s age of expeditious economic growth, information overload and fast growing corporate culture, people may consider folklore outdated and redundant, a veritable waste of brain space. However, apart from their indisputable entertainment value, folklore has profound existential and philosophical truths.