Not everyone may relate to the classical arts but they have played a poignant role in our modern history. Newly independent India was left in dire straits as a ship-to-mouth economy. In the austerity decades after Independence, we had nothing practical or material to boast of. The Green Revolution had yet to happen and we were neither tech and pharma leaders nor the world’s fifth-largest economy. Nor were we in a position to help others with free vaccines, food, medicines and money.
In this situation, the only thing we had to show for ourselves on the global stage was our classical arts. Performances of classical dance and music at international fora were our calling card, to tell the world, “Look, we are a young country but an old nation. We are India. We will be back.” The arts saved our face while we struggled to develop and painfully squared our long-bowed shoulders. So even if we don’t relate to them, we have reason to respect them and be grateful. The arts also played a strong part in the Freedom Movement. Rediscovering them was part of rebuilding national identity by repossessing culture.
But even before that, there is a thrilling story about how the arts won freedom for the people from oppression. Back in the day, King Immadi Narasa Nayaka of Vijayanagar encouraged poets and performers to spread culture through their arts. Many were invited to perform at the royal court as well. Once, in 1502, a programme at the palace featured a ‘Bhagavata Mela’ or devotional play—a troupe from Kuchelapuram village by the river Krishna was to present the play Prahlada Charitram. Such dramas or operas, a blend of speech and song, were a very old tradition in India. Shivlilas were popular in the days of the older Kakatiya kingdom and so were plays about Lord Vishnu. The troupe from Kuchelapuram could sing in Sanskrit and Telugu and knew its Carnatic music, with gifted young men playing female characters.
The king and his court looked forward to the evening’s performance. The courtyard was sprinkled with rosewater and sandalwood essence. Long strings of jasmine were looped around the pillars and torches lit. Copper holders of sambrani smoked in the corners, the fragrant resin burnt on live coals to keep away mosquitos.
Into this firelit, expectant atmosphere stepped the artistes of Kuchelapuram, bowing in deep namaste to Narasa Nayaka and his court. The prologue began, invoking the guardians of the eight directions and the powers of justice and righteousness. “A delicate compliment to the king’s good governance,” preened the courtiers, for were they not part of it?
“Unusual,” thought the king, for plays normally began with an invocation to Ganesha, Shiva or Vishnu.
The hero, Prahlada, played by a slim, resolute-looking youth, remonstrated with his tyrannical father Hiranyakashipu. “I cannot submit to you as my guru, O Raja,” he said firmly. “You are the ruler of my region, no doubt. But the king of my heart is that just, righteous and merciful one, the lord who abides in the victorious city.”
“Why, that’s Vijayanagar, the ‘victorious city’,” thought Narasa Nayaka, suddenly intent.
“He is too far away to save you, Prahlada,” boomed the tyrant. “I am the one with immediate and absolute power over you.”
“He is a gentle lord,” said Prahlada, turning to Narasa Nayaka and bowing deeply. “Unlike you, he is not feared by his subjects. He does not tax them cruelly or make them yield their gold and fields to you, or force their sons into state service or demand their wives and daughters for his own inner chambers.”
“How I choose to rule is not your business,” thundered the tyrant. “Your task is to obey me, not this faraway Vishnu on his faraway throne.”
“Very specific points under that epic tone,” thought Narasa Nayaka, deeply interested.
The play went on, its intensity growing as Hiranyakashipu tried every trick in the epic book to kill Prahlada who was saved each time by “faraway Vishnu on his faraway throne”. The drama climaxed with Vishnu erupting from a pillar as Narasimha the man-lion and killing Hiranyakashipu. A triumphant song and a shower of rose petals marked the play’s close.
The king graciously bestowed the customary bag of gold, silk shawl and gold bracelets on the old man with an enigmatic face who was the troupe leader, and retired to his chamber to think it over.
The next morning he summoned his prime minister and army chief.
“We have some very interesting subjects in our empire,” he told them with a grim look. “The artistes of Kuchelapuram have risked their lives to convey a message to me and luckily I was able to read between the lines. They will need an armed escort to go home; make it a fairly big escort. Prime Minister, please send an able administrator with an armed escort. Acting on your authority, he will depose and imprison Guruva Raja who presently administers that region, and take his place. The armed escort must stay with the new administrator.”
“Guruva Raja’s coffers must be inspected and all wealth that rightfully belongs to the royal treasury must be seized and dispatched here to Hampi, as must any stockpile of arms and ammunition. The citizens held in constraint must be set free and an honorarium disbursed to each one of them to go home with.”
“After these matters are taken care of, a healing puja must be conducted, addressed to Lord Vishnu, to thank him for his grace and favour on our land. All citizens must be invited to a feast at the temple. There must be a parade by representatives of all the guilds and communities, with singers and dancers leading them, to celebrate their release from bondage in a befitting manner.”
And that, according to tradition, is what happened, and the story was told and retold of the resource and daring of the artistes of Kuchelapuram, also known as Kuchipudi.
Renuka Narayanan
Slug: Faithline