Authors: Anita Nair
Tags: #Kerala (India), #Dancers, #India, #General, #Literary, #Triangles (Interpersonal Relations), #Travel Writers, #Fiction, #Love Stories
Mistress (34 page)
How they frittered away emotion on the trivial and inane.
I tried to tell Aashaan of my discomfort at home. Aashaan looked at me for a long moment and sighed. ‘You are determined to make it hard for yourself, I see. For now, do as I say. Every morning, when
you shave, look into the mirror and say—I won’t be supercilious. Kathakali is my life, but others have a right to live their lives as they see fit.
you shave, look into the mirror and say—I won’t be supercilious. Kathakali is my life, but others have a right to live their lives as they see fit.
‘If shrimps make your brother behave as if he were Narakasura describing the peacock’s dance to his wife or whatever, so be it.
‘You can’t be immune to ordinary feelings. Until you know what it is to be human, you can’t play a mortal. Do you hear me? Koman, there is life beyond kathakali. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you.’
Aashaan said what he had to, but he knew as I did that there wasn’t a life beyond kathakali for us. This was to be both our blessing and curse. While we were epic heroes, we knew a magnificence, an exaltation of spirit, a leap into a world beyond the one we inhabited; as men, we were nothing. So we chose to remain aloof from mere mortals whose everyday was compounded of shrimps, films and dents in motorcars.
Yet, I loved my family, and they me. While my brothers and I had nothing in common—they perhaps found my world as limiting as I did theirs—we were bound to each other by affection. And in the knowledge that because our lives were so separate, we need never be rivals or enemies. That was the strength of our tie.
They travelled, Achan, Amma, Mani and Babu, to a small Shiva temple near Vellinezhi to see me perform. I was to be Dharmaputran in the second half of Kirmira Vadham. It wasn’t the part I would have chosen for my debut, but it was the first invitation I received as an individual rather than as a member of the institute’s troupe. It was a recognition of sorts, I told myself. I would like to have been Kirmira. A character partially evil and partially good. But Aashaan, who had suggested my name to the temple board said, ‘To play a katthi vesham, you need to fill out more. It is the same when playing a thaadi vesham. I know that villains in real life don’t have identification marks to help us recognize them as villains. Their vileness is badge enough. But in kathakali, the villainous nature has to be made explicit. The villains need to have ooku, noku, alarcha, pagarcha …do you understand? Your time will come.’
I nodded. Ooku—vigour. Noku—a piercing glance. Alarcha—roar. And pagarcha—imposing stature. At best, I could manage the
piercing glance. As for the rest, I trusted Aashaan when he said time and experience would provide.
piercing glance. As for the rest, I trusted Aashaan when he said time and experience would provide.
‘You will all come, won’t you?’ I asked. I had gone home to tell them the news. It was lunchtime when I walked in and I joined them at the dining table. ‘It is my first real vesham.’
‘Who will you play?’ Amma asked.
I flinched. The question ought to have been, Who will you be? Kathakali wasn’t drama; it wasn’t about playing. Kathakali was about being. But Amma wouldn’t understand the difference.
I said, ‘Dharmaputran.’
‘Who is that?’ Babu asked, heaping rice on to his plate. For someone his size, Babu ate more than the rest of us put together.
‘Well, you see, this is a story from the Mahabharata. The Pandavas had lost their kingdom in a game of dice and were in exile. The story begins with Dharmaputran, the oldest of the Pandavas, looking at his wife Panchali and feeling sorry for her and guilty for having imposed penury on her.’
‘Oh, don’t start now. We’ll fall asleep here,’ Babu interrupted, laying fried sardines on a side plate. I stared at the rapidly emptying plate of fried fish and said nothing. After all this time, I still wasn’t used to Babu’s abrupt manner of speaking.
Mani laughed his rudeness off, but I felt a great urge to reach over and smack Babu’s face.
‘Etta, never mind Babu …tell us the story,’ Mani said.
‘Later,’ I said. I was already wondering if I had made a mistake by inviting them to see my Dharmaputran.
‘So yours is a very important role?’ Achan asked.
I wondered if I should tell them the truth. Then I decided it would be wise to prepare them. ‘Well, the role of Dharmaputran is so important and so strenuous that usually two dancers are needed. Aashaan will begin and I will finish.’
‘So do you get to kill the demon?’ Mani asked.
‘No, the asura king is killed by Bheema.’
‘What does Dharmaputran do then?’
‘Since you didn’t want to know the story when I began telling you, I suggest you come for the performance and find out,’ I said. Babu could benefit from a taste of his medicine, I thought.
Mani laughed. Father smiled. Amma cleared the plates and Babu
sneaked me a dirty look. Then Achan rose saying, ‘Well, at least you are not playing a woman’s role …I would find that very hard to stomach. My son dressed as a woman and preening like a woman in front of the whole world.’
sneaked me a dirty look. Then Achan rose saying, ‘Well, at least you are not playing a woman’s role …I would find that very hard to stomach. My son dressed as a woman and preening like a woman in front of the whole world.’
Later Mani came to my room. ‘Etta,’ he said, ‘do you need anything?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like toddy. It might help you get into the mood.’
‘Oh no,’ I protested, laughing. ‘I will have enough trouble keeping Aashaan sober without having to worry about being sober enough to perform myself.’
Mani pulled a comb out of his pocket and gave his hair a cursory flick. Then he began grooming his moustache. Did he ever give it a rest, I wondered. ‘Would you like me to take you there, then?’
He met my eyes in the mirror. Parthipura Kalyani’s, he meant.
I felt my face flush. The last time I was home, Mani had decided that I had borne the weight of my virginity long enough.
‘How can you be a romantic hero if you don’t know what romance is?’ he demanded.
‘But this isn’t love,’ I had offered feebly.
‘It is a part of love. Lust is its brother. Let me tell you something: when lust fills you up, it doesn’t matter who she is. The woman in front of you is the one you love.’
‘But a whore?’
‘Who else is there?’ Mani said. ‘Besides, you don’t have to worry about getting her pregnant. This isn’t the old times when you can sleep with a servant and get away with it. Remember what your Aashaan said about using experience to make the emotions you portray that much more authentic? How do you expect to look like you have fucked when you have never fucked?’
I smiled. When Mani used foul language, he sounded like a little boy who relished the sordidness of the words only because it made him seem so grown up. I let myself be persuaded. In Parthipura Kalyani’s folds and crevices, I mapped lust and knew the truth of Mani’s observation. And I realized that Mani was more grown up than I in many ways. For lust did cloud the mind and when in lust, even an old whore like Parthipura Kalyani was the gracious Damayanti. Naive and untouched, and the most perfect of all women.
But this moment, I knew, wasn’t for lust or love. If anything, I needed to feel frustrated.
‘No, not now,’ I said.
‘In which case, I will let you rest …will you be here when I come back ?’ Mani asked, his voice already impatient to leave.
‘I’ll go to the institute at about six,’ I said, knowing Mani would return much later. ‘I’ll look for you in the audience tomorrow,’ I added.
I knew that he would be bored. And yet, I liked the thought of all of them being there.
The next morning, Aashaan and I went to Vellinezhi with the chairman of the temple board, in his car. Aashaan had a knack for asking for luxuries. He did it so deftly that it emerged as a reasonable demand.
‘Is the temple near the bus stand?’ I heard Aashan ask the chairman of the temple board when he came to finalize the arrangements.
‘I think so,’ the man said. ‘It’s only two furlongs or so.’
When Aashaan saw that he hadn’t hooked the fish, he sighed. This was a sigh he had perfected. A sigh from the role Aashaan was to play. A sigh that spoke of exhaustion and thwarted desires. I hid my smile.
Then Aashaan said, ‘I was just curious. I don’t travel by bus. Oh, by the way, would you be able to provide a room for the taxi driver to sleep in? It is an all-night performance and he will need a place to rest.’
The chairman bit the bait as Aashaan had expected him to. ‘Oh no, what is this talk of hiring a taxi? I’ll send my car for you.’
‘No, no,’ Aashaan protested. ‘That is asking too much of you.’
‘Aaih!’ The man stood up in his determination to have his way. ‘It is nothing. No trouble at all. In fact, it is a great honour to have you travel by my car. And perhaps, if it isn’t expecting too much of you, would you have lunch in my home?’
Aashaan waved a hand. It was a gesture that had no place in the vocabulary of over five hundred hand gestures we used. But it said just as much: If you insist; of course; I seldom do this, but as you are such a special person, I am willing.
So we drove to the Shiva temple. Usually, the temple committee
chose Dakhayagam where Shiva was the central character. However, the chairman, who was a kathakali aficionado, had insisted that the committee choose something else.
chose Dakhayagam where Shiva was the central character. However, the chairman, who was a kathakali aficionado, had insisted that the committee choose something else.
‘Are you nervous?’ Aashaan asked in the car.
‘No,’ I lied. I quaked within, but I wouldn’t let him know. Aashaan had no patience for novices or neuroses.
‘Good,’ he said, settling into silence.
Aáshan would slowly start retreating into himself. Sometime early in the evening he would begin to show signs of restlessness. Then he would have someone direct him to the nearest toddy shop.
I would have to ensure that he stopped with one bottle. That would be my guru-dakshina to him. A thanksgiving compounded of restraint, and perhaps indulgent censure.
The pettikaaran was waiting. He was more than green room assistant and make-up man. Gopi was part of the institute. He alone knew us as mere men and then as the beings we became. Gopi was part of that change.
Now Gopi arrived with a lamp. He placed it on the floor, gave the wicks a twirl and lit them. He straightened and turned to me. ‘I think it is time to begin.’
I nodded.
Outside, the dusk had settled as shadows. The school was adjacent to the temple ground. One of the classrooms was to be our aniyara, the green room where all the actors would prepare their faces and minds, don their costumes and characters.
Just then, the chairman arrived. His face was set in an expression I couldn’t fathom. ‘There is no need for any of this,’ he said in a cold voice.
I stared at him. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘I have a reputation, a standing in society. I would rather cancel the performance tonight and have a group of school children perform a childish folk dance rather than let a drunk make an ass of himself and a mockery of me in front of the entire village and the neighbouring ones as well. This is a divine art. Does he even realize that? I took a chance by having Kirmira Vadham performed instead of the usual Dakshayagam. I took a chance by inviting your aashaan to be the main artist. And what does the man do? He is lying outside a shop, so drunk he doesn’t know his elbows from his hands. I have made
my decision. I suggest you pack up and leave. I will have my car drop you off at the junction,’ he snapped.
my decision. I suggest you pack up and leave. I will have my car drop you off at the junction,’ he snapped.
I felt fear seize me with taloned hands. It wasn’t Aashaan I thought of, and the humiliation this meant to him. I thought of myself. I thought of my parents and brother arriving to discover the performance had been cancelled. I thought of the few friends I had invited to see me perform. I thought of the stories that would percolate to the institute. I was a failure even before I had begun.
I felt tears rise in my eyes. And I did what even to this day makes me cringe. I prostrated myself at his feet. ‘Please don’t do this. Please. You will ruin my career and my reputation.’
He looked at me. ‘I cannot change my mind,’ he said.
‘Please show me some mercy. This is my debut. My life as a dancer will end if anyone hears about this …please, please …’ I wept.
Why did I beg and plead? Why couldn’t I have left? In retrospect, it wouldn’t have diminished my career in any way. But I was young and vulnerable. I was also unsure of myself. In that moment, all my insecurities came back to haunt me and it was the fear of being a failure in my own eyes that made me swallow all my pride and grab his feet.
‘Aashan will be able to perform. He drinks. Everyone knows that. Perhaps he has had a little too much this evening, but I promise I will have him sober and ready. Please don’t cancel the performance. Please think of me, if not him,’ I pleaded, hoping to reach the man.
He wiped his face and looked away. ‘I am not sure why I am doing this, but I will let you go ahead. But if I see that drunk fumble even once, I won’t think anything of halting the performance right then. Do you hear me?’
I nodded. When he left, I sat there holding my head. I felt humiliation over me in waves. I felt shame. I felt tainted. What was so precious to me had become a curse. Is this how it would always be? Would my art always be a burden, making me humble myself merely so that I could keep it alive?
Gopi cleared his throat. ‘Where is Aashaan?’
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