On a balmy evening in the 1960s, the Kathakali club of Ernakulam rolled out its first performance of the Sampoorna Ramayana. This was an original composition, not part of the age-old Kathakali repertoire.
An ambitious attempt to replace the usual episode drawn from the Puranas, with an entire epic. Which was then fitted into the traditional timing-to be performed at night from dusk to dawn.
The freshly-minted dance drama was faithful to the spirit of Kathakali. There were parallels drawn between incidents in the ancient tale and contemporary political and social events. And the moral dimension was hammered home by dancers and singers, who pronounced judgments on all characters, even the most heroic.
The story did not end with the clamour and colour of the defeat of Ravana. When the catharsis came, the first streaks of dawn were stealing in through the windows to light up the sandals, with which Bharata had kept the kingdom together, while his brothers roamed the jungle.
Beats on traditional chenda and maddalam drums aroused our anticipation. It was time to welcome back the footsore wanderers, who were returning to the kingdom.
They did not burst on the scene with the royal panache typical of Kathakali entrances. We heard a commotion near the back benches and looked away from the podium on which our gaze had been fixed.
The exiles were already among us without fanfare. Travel-stained, weary, barefooted, in threadbare clothes. Surrounded by the Vanara Sena (monkey brigade), which had defeated a powerful Lankan monarch. Courtiers, rishis and Prince Bharata himself ran down from the stage, as the drums resounded with joy.
Every face in the audience lit up with hope and anticipation. In those few moments, we were one, caught up in dreams for ourselves and for one another. For a new country in a republic that was hardly a decade old. Our emotions perhaps reflecting the feelings of those who had waited for Rama’s arrival in the epic.
Yes, the Kathakali performance had achieved its aim. It made the story relevant and conveyed a powerful message. Royalty had disappeared from our world; the path to power must come from the people. Through the efforts of those whom they had picked, who had lived among them and felt the same needs.
Since that morning, from time to time, I have heard the faint beat of those drums during and after my years in the government. And I have often wondered about the expectations of those who had gathered to welcome back their prince. Did they believe that the Rama Rajya of their dreams was at last in sight?
They knew of the new king only by hearsay. Royal bards had sung his praises, but these were only godi media, mouthpieces of the Court. Then, as now, the people must have relied more on stories circulating on the grapevine.
Not too different from the voter today, who assesses the prospects of waking up to Rama Rajya on the basis of what she knows about the character, and abilities of the candidates on offer.
The prince was valiant-he had outshone his peers and brought them the best queen in the land. He had honoured his father and carried out his promises, even when it lost him the throne and forced him into exile.
His heart was with the poor-he had willingly eaten the half-bitten berries offered by old Shabari from her hoard. His charisma had bewitched the monkey brigade, who had fought beside him to free the abducted queen.
But, the people had also heard about some of his other traits. My feisty grandmother always reminded us (as did the Kathakali performers) that Rama had killed Bali by an immoral act-through deceit and stealth; we must not always praise or imitate him.
And we all knew how he had treated Sita, when loose tongues had wagged on their return to the kingdom. So, there was room for improvement; we would have Rama Rajya only if the prince learned new ways and changed his behaviour.
Spawned in India, the Ramayana has assumed various forms and meanings over southeast Asia. There are tribal versions and, as reported recently in ‘Caravan’ magazine, there are even Muslim versions.
Each Indian language has its own Ramayana, which is not a literal translation of the Valmiki original. I grew up with Ezhuthachan’s Malayalam poem, which I devoured one lazy summer in hazy incomprehension.
Every bard lends his own emphasis to the Ramayana’s characters and episodes and passes fresh judgments on the hero and his entourage. Like any true epic, the narrative is fertile ground for artistic interpretation, so that dramatists and poets can choose a preferred viewpoint to illustrate their ideas.
A good example is the Maithilisharan Gupta narrative, written from the perspective of Lakshmana’s wife, Urmila. But, despite the variety, the phrase ‘Rama Rajya’ has only one meaning in every Indian language.
The symbolic importance of this expression has crystallised in my mind over the years. It is important to understand it well in today’s charged political atmosphere.
Let us start with what is not Rama Rajya. It is not an imaginary kingdom of the past, a memory of what we had once known and lost to which we are returning.
There are other phrases for such recollections in different parts of the subcontinent. Malayalis, for example, revert to the golden age of Kerala, the era of King Mahabali (popularly called Maveli), who promoted fraternity, prosperity and equality among his subjects.
His glorious reign ended when he was unjustly tricked and driven down into the underworld. And he is welcomed back every year during the Onam festival with songs extolling the lost paradise. The land of Maveli is part of our collective memory. Rama Rajya is something else entirely.
The idea of Rama Rajya is drawn from mythology, but it always refers to a longed-for future. It is the community that we wish to build, in which we hope to live in harmony with others.
The contours of the new country have assumed shape during discussions with neighbours and friends all over India. And these are its indisputable elements.
The top item on the priority list of every Indian is education. The thirst for learning glows in the eyes of the parents and children whom I meet on election campaigns.
It animates housemaids who clean three to four homes, and autodrivers who cover miles every day to earn the money to pay for schools.
A close second is the quest for medical attention. I have seen it in the long queues which lined up before dawn at the free clinic that we ran in the city. I have also heard the voices of voters seeking a roof over their heads. Delivery boys rushing around for a meagre livelihood.
Hordes gathered to collect rations from government-run shops. And the poor and the destitute jamming post offices and banks for monthly pensions.
Over everything hovers the longing for harmony, for the protection of the law. For the right to speak your mind and choose a government. The Rama Rajya which will meet these aspirations is always around the corner. Ahead of us beckoning us on.
Renuka Viswanathan retired from the Indian Administrative Service.Views expressed here are the writer’s own.