Utpal Dutt's Theatre: Continuities and Disjunctions in His Politics and Aesthetics 9819921260, 9789819921263

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Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1

Uddalak Dutta

Utpal Dutt’s Theatre Continuities and Disjunctions in His Politics and Aesthetics

Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia Volume 1

Series Editor Manujendra Kundu, Kolkata, India Editorial Board Aishika Chakraborty, Jadavpur University, Kolkata, India Alberto Guevara, York University, Toronto, Canada Ameet Parameswaran, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Ananda Lal, Jadavpur University (retd.), Kolkata, India Anasuya Subasinghe, University of the Visual and Performing Arts, Colombo, Sri Lanka Anuradha Kapur, National School of Drama, (retd.), New Delhi, India Bishnupriya Dutt, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Claire Pamment, William & Mary, Williamsburg, USA David V. Mason, Ecumenica Journal, USA Dhrupadi Chattopadhyay, Shreemati Nathibai Damodar Thackersey Women’s University, Mumbai, India Indika Ferdinando, University of the Visual and Performing Arts, Colombo, Sri Lanka Lata Singh, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Mallarika Sinha Roy, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Partho Datta, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Rajdeep Konar, Indian Institute of Technology Jodhpur, Jodhpur, India Rimli Bhattacharya, University of Delhi (retd.), New Delhi, India Sumangala Damodaran, Institute for Human Development, New Delhi, India Syed Jamil Ahmed, University of Dhaka, Dhaka, Bangladesh Urmimala Sarkar Munsi, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Vasudha Dalmia, University of California, Berkeley, USA

This interdisciplinary series explores cultural formation and evolution by understanding matrices of performance discourse and religious, gender, racial, political and economic complexities. It welcomes proposals on drama, theatre, dance, music, theory and praxis related to Performance Studies from the South Asian region and beyond. It discusses the performance history, diverse practices, customs, and principles prevalent in urban and hinterland spaces. The primary aim of this series is to incorporate not just individual urban voices but to examine the marginalized vocabularies and understand their agency and “affect”-edness. It deals with aesthetic practices or practices that have a stated artistic goal and performances that may be non-artistic in their objectives. The series invites original monographs, edited books, and handbooks.

Uddalak Dutta

Utpal Dutt’s Theatre Continuities and Disjunctions in His Politics and Aesthetics

Uddalak Dutta Department of English Banwarilal Bhalotia College Asansol, India

ISSN 2731-5088 ISSN 2731-5096 (electronic) Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia ISBN 978-981-99-2126-3 ISBN 978-981-99-2127-0 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

Acknowledgements

This book project would not have seen the light of day without the encouragement and cooperation of a large number of people as well as organizations. The book is partly based on the research on Utpal Dutt’s theatre that I carried out at the Department of English, Jadavpur University, Kolkata, from 2014 to 2020. The rigorous research that I conducted during this period has been instrumental not only in accumulating knowledge on Dutt’s theatre, but also stimulating my interest in the discipline of Theatre Studies. The pivotal role in this context was played by my supervisor Ananda Lal (Retired Professor, Department of English, Jadavpur University). Without his expert guidance, minute attention to detail in editing innumerable drafts and most importantly, confidence in my suitability for this ambitious project, I would never have written this book. No words can adequately express my gratitude to him. I gratefully acknowledge the enthusiastic help extended by the amiable staff of Natya Shodh Sansthan, National Library, the Central Libraries of St. Xavier’s College and Jadavpur University, The Goethals Indian Library and Research Society, and the Utpal Dutt Foundation for International Theatre Studies, Kolkata, at various stages of my research. I thank the various interviewees who spoke to me and shared their valuable insights on Dutt’s theatre. Without their vivid recollections, my analysis of Dutt’s theatrical art would certainly have lacked critical acumen. In chronological order of the interviews, I acknowledge the contribution of Sri Tamal Raychaudhuri, Sri Sukumar Bandyopadhyay, Sri Malay Biswas, Sri Samir Majumdar, Dr. Bisnupriya Dutt, Sri Rajat Bandyopadhyay, Smt. Chhanda Chattopadhyay, Dr. Pabitra Sarkar, Sri Samik Bandyopadhyay, Sri Asok Mukhopadhyay, Sri Kamal Saha, Sri Anish Ghosh, Sri Kausik Sen, Sri Saurabh Palodhi, Sri Indranath Guha, Sri Joyraj Bhattacharjee, Dr. Tapati Gupta, and Sri Kamalesh Chakrabarti. Dr. Manujendra Kundu and his team of editors at Springer and the reviewers for this book have provided numerous crucial insights and duly pointed out sections of the manuscript that required attention and revision. The book has improved manifold through their interventions and suggestions. Dr. Argha Banerjee, Dean of Arts, St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata, has always been a pillar of support. His constant encouragement and words of wisdom have v

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greatly assisted this project. Sri Kamal Saha, who runs Bangla Natyakosh Parishad, Kolkata, has supplied precious resources. His erudition, passion for theatre, and general warmth of demeanour are inspiring examples for young theatre enthusiasts. I must acknowledge the contribution of my dear friends who have read parts of this book at various stages of its formulation and provided crucial inputs. In this regard, I am especially grateful to Amrita Mitra, Assistant Professor of English, Banwarilal Bhalotia College, Asansol, and Tirthankar Sengupta, Assistant Professor of English, Dhola Mahavidyalaya. I wear their warmth and camaraderie in my deep heart’s core. Last, but by no means the least, I must mention the unconditional love and support of my parents Smt. Gouri Dutta and Sri Utpal Kr. Dutta and my wife Dr. Kanika Ghosh.

Note on Dutt’s Bengali Titles Spelt in English and Translation of Resource Material Used in This Book

This book has been written keeping in mind a wide corpus of readers, including those who may not know Bengali—the language that Dutt mostly used for his creative works. There are certain inevitable problems in spelling out Bengali words in English. For instance, Bengali has two ‘a’ sounds (‘long’, as in ‘abar’ (‘again’, pronounced ‘aa-baar’); ‘short’ as in ‘amar’ (‘immortal’, pronounced ‘a-mar’)). Similarly, there are two distinct letters in Bengali which may appropriate the English ‘n’, three that may be deemed equivalent to ‘s’, two for ‘e’, and so on. The Bengali alphabet provides distinct letters to represent these sounds, but there is no such luxury while writing in English. Therefore, I have adopted a uniform system of spelling out Dutt’s Bengali titles in this book. I have distinguished the ‘long a’ from the ‘short a’ with a diacritical mark: a¯ is used to signify the ‘long a’ sound in Bengali. This particular difference is especially confusing and difficult for non-native speakers, because the two a’s in Bengali have distinct pronunciations. The other cases (n’s, s’s, e’s, and so on), though different in terms of spellings, do not generate very different sounds when they form words. For example, the word ‘barnana’ (‘description’, pronounced ‘bar-na-naa’), when spelt in Bengali, uses two distinct letters for the two ‘n’ sounds, but the consequent pronunciations do not vary widely. Similarly, ‘sasya’ (‘crop’, pronounced ‘sa-sya’) is spelt in Bengali with two distinct letters for the ‘s’ sound, but the pronunciation may be appropriated with the given English spelling. Thus, the system adopted here may not help the reader to correctly guess the Bengali spelling of a word from its English equivalent, but it will help him/her pronounce the Bengali titles more or less correctly. I believe that it is more important to help the non-Bengalispeaking reader guess the correct pronunciation of titles of Dutt’s plays and essays, as he/she reads this book. To avoid complications that are not inevitable, diacritical marks have not been used for Bengali names of persons/places. English translations of Bengali titles have been provided in brackets, following the first reference to each of the titles. For plays which already exist in English translation, the title of the

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Note on Dutt’s Bengali Titles Spelt in English and Translation of …

play in English has been provided in italics. The book substantially uses resource material in Bengali, as both primary and secondary resources. The translations of Bengali resource material into English have been done by this author, unless specified otherwise.

Introductory Note

Utpal Dutt (1929–1993) is considered one of the pillars of post-Independence Indian theatre, as well as a prominent practitioner of political/Marxist theatre in the twentieth-century global context. He has written a large number of original plays on subjects of national as well as international relevance. His theatre forces the audience to reassess several significant episodes representing the struggle of the common man against various forms of oppression and exploitation around the world. The remarkable range of his work covers topics like the Paris Commune (in Muktidiksha), French Revolution (Nil Sada Lal), American Civil Rights movement (Manusher Adhikare), Cuban Revolution (Krusvidhha Cuba), Vietnamese resistance to American aggression (Ajeya Vietnam), anti-imperial struggle in Congo (Congor Karagare), rise of Nazism (Barricade), events in Indonesian history (Raktakta Indonesia), lives of Lenin (Leniner Dak and Lenin Kothay?) and Stalin (Stalin-1934), the collapse of the USSR (Laldurga), among others. He has dramatized the First War of Independence in 1857 (Mahavidroha), the Naval Rebellion in Bombay (Kallol), the Jalianwala Bagh massacre (Jalianwalabagh), the Sanyasi rebellion (Sany¯asir Tarabari), the exploitation of farmers forced to cultivate indigo (Nilrakta), the last days of Mahatma Gandhi’s life and the Partition (Ekla Chalo Re), and a number of other important episodes of the Indian freedom struggle. His revolutionary theatre also draws generously on other significant episodes in Indian history, from the reign of the Guptas (Suryasikar) to nineteenth-century Calcutta (Tiner Taloyar), or the rise to prominence of religious fanaticism in modern Indian mainstream politics (Janatar Aphim). He was an acclaimed expert on Marxist theory and Brechtian theatre, and his work has been discussed on reputed national and international fora leading to widespread interest, both among lay theatregoers and intellectuals. Having authored over seventy original plays designed for the proscenium, Jatra and street theatre, the variety and virtuosity of Dutt’s oeuvre perhaps has no parallel in modern Indian theatre. Dutt was also keenly interested in world theatre and wrote widely on various stage techniques and theories related to the stage. He has also written a large number of essays/pamphlets on Marxist political theory. Dutt, in addition to his vast corpus of writing, also found time to devote to directing and acting in his own plays and

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achieved his position as one of the most prominent dramatist-director-actors in independent India. His career as a film actor, in both Hindi and Bengali cinemas, has also been noteworthy. Dutt’s theatre, undeniably, is of seminal importance for anyone who wishes to study Marxist theatre, as well as for students of post-Independence Indian theatre. Yet, he remains obscure in intellectual circles around the world, and even in India. The virtual absence of prominent translations of Dutt’s works (either into English or into other major Indian languages), as well as critical studies in English dedicated to his works, has been a severe handicap as far as scholarly engagement with Dutt’s theatre (who wrote mostly in a regional language) is concerned. The unfortunate lack of adequate critical attention on his works has perhaps been aggravated by the fact that his personality has overtaken his art almost always, resulting in either unquestioning reverence in the minds of his followers or unqualified hatred on the part of his opponents, who fall prey to the illusion that Dutt used his art to merely further his political agenda. In recent times, there seems to have been a revival in interest as far as exploring Dutt’s works for contemporary Bengali theatre is concerned. The recent revivals of Dutt’s theatre and noteworthy intellectual engagements with his work have been elaborately discussed in the final chapter. It is evident that Dutt’s work seems to be engaging theatre directors across generations. If the popularity of these productions is any yardstick to go by, one may safely assert that Dutt continues to be loved by common theatregoers, just as he was during his heydays on stage. Opinions on Dutt’s work (or, on Dutt himself) are plentiful. But they are, too often, not framed with necessary intellectual rigour or objectivity. It is my firm belief that the present is perhaps the most opportune occasion to attempt an objective assessment of Dutt’s theatre. My aim in this book is to help the reader achieve a comprehensive understanding of the theatrical works of Utpal Dutt who is, without an iota of doubt, one of the stalwarts of our theatre. As a first step towards achieving our objective, I believe it is necessary to develop a fair idea about the assessment of Dutt’s theatre that has already been done, so that the reader is well prepared to engage with the arguments that are presented in this book. As pointed out earlier, there is a gross lack of critical assessments of Dutt’s theatre in English, just as we do not have enough translations of his theatre. Undoubtedly, this has greatly contributed to the unjust critical oblivion that Dutt has suffered. While one may point out certain probable reasons behind such neglect (as I have attempted in the opening chapter), there is no doubt that Dutt’s theatre deserves to be studied far more widely. Let us now turn our attention to some significant assessments of Dutt’s theatre available in English, classified into groups for ease of comprehension wherever required. There are certain articles which refer to his acting skills or style of directing theatre. “R. B.” highlights the flamboyant and, at times, overdone acting style that was Dutt’s staple.1 The author explains that the dramatist’s convictions about the political purpose of theatre perhaps did not allow him room to temper his style into subtleties, and he may have derived his dramatic structures influenced by the Jatra. While the 1

See R. B. “Politicising Theatre”. Youth Times, 29 November 1974, 42.

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author refers to a couple of plays briefly, the arguments raised perhaps require further elaboration through sustained analyses of more of Dutt’s stage performances. Dutt’s style, indeed, has often been criticized for lack of artistic subtlety, and he has been held guilty of overcooking his point. In Kironmoy Raha’s opinion, Dutt’s theatre of social commitment was always guided by the principle that he had to attract the largest possible audience.2 Raha also raises questions about the dramatist’s success in “politicalizing” the people, even though he always managed to draw large crowds. We must remember that Dutt intended to reach out to the uninitiated working class through his art and was willing to employ a style that would suit them, rather than the educated urban middle class. As Sumanta Banerjee remarks in his obituary for the dramatist, Dutt’s theatre gained strength from its directness.3 He was able to employ a direct approach without compromising on the aesthetic quality of his theatre in his best productions. At the same time, as discussed in this book, there are plays where he seems too taken in by demands of popularity. I have elaborately discussed various aspects of Dutt’s style in the fourth chapter of this book. Dnyaneshwar Nadkarni opines that the mass-oriented Jatra form affected Dutt’s production style.4 Samik Bandyopadhyay’s “Utpal Dutt and his Dramas” reviews five of Dutt’s productions that the PLT staged during their 1978 trip to Bombay: Tiner Taloyar, Barricade, Dusvapner Nagari, Ebar Rajar Pala, and Titmir.5 Some of the important arguments put forward by the author here have been addressed in my detailed assessments of the respective plays. James Hatch discusses the innovations introduced by Tapas Sen— Dutt’s trusted lighting designer in many of his productions—in lighting up the stage.6 As director, Dutt was always enthusiastic about optimal use of sound, light, and other stage equipment to enhance the effectiveness of his productions. Often, his groups had to work with low budgets, and this necessitated improvisation of various sorts. Some of these notable stage experiments carried off with panache in Dutt’s theatre have been discussed in the fourth chapter. Dutt primarily wrote for the rank-and-file, but this did not hinder his aesthetic aspiration to create art of enduring merit. His constant awareness of the need to identify a style that would be both aesthetically sound and popular made his art an interesting amalgam of aesthetic brilliance and social commitment. A. J. Gunawardana’s interview with the dramatist attempts an understanding of Dutt’s artistic consciousness.7 The dramatist explains his concept of revolutionary theatre and highlights his future plans of preaching revolution to the masses through his art. He also discusses his interaction with the Jatra form in this context. I have 2

See Kironmoy Raha, “The Essential Dutt”, Enact 68–69, no page number provided. See Sumanta Banerjee, “Utpal Dutt”, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 28, no. 36, 4 September 1993. 4 See Dnyaneshwar Nadkarni, “Utpal—the militant thespian”, The Economic Times, 1 December 1978. 5 See Samik Bandyopadhyay, “Utpal Dutt and his Dramas”, The Economic Times, 1 December 1978. 6 See James Hatch, “The Communist Theatre and Utpal Dutt”. The Statesman, 21 November 1981. 7 See Utpal Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, interview by A. J. Gunawardana, The Drama Review 15, no. 3 (Spring 1971): 225–237. 3

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assessed the impact that Dutt’s politics had on his art in the second chapter, where this interview has featured prominently. Samik Bandyopadhyay engaged Utpal Dutt in an interview in 1972 that was published in the magazine Enact.8 Here, Bandyopadhyay makes Dutt look back at his initiation into professional theatre, his days with the Little Theatre Group and the Indian People’s Theatre Association, and his early career with the People’s Little Theatre. Dutt explains that his transition from English language theatre to playing exclusively in Bengali was necessitated by his urge to carry his political message to the masses through his theatre. The dramatist throws light on his association with the IPTA, where he clarifies that he was initially drawn to the IPTA on account of his political convictions, rather than any theatrical consideration. Though Dutt’s short association with this mass organization was controversial, he learnt virtues that would affect his theatre career in the years to come. This early phase of Dutt’s career, including his association with the IPTA, has been discussed at length in the opening chapter. The dramatist goes on to talk briefly about his significant productions up to that point in time, beginning from Angar. Dutt also highlights the crucial impact that his (then-recent) work in the Jatra medium had on his proscenium theatre. He claims that his close interaction with the masses, facilitated by the Jatra, re-emphasized for him the importance of writing about the demands of the rank-and-file even in his proscenium theatre. Stylistically too, he claims that he brought over significant elements into the proscenium from the Jatra. If we assess Dutt’s proscenium theatre of this period (as I have attempted in my assessment of Tiner Taloyar, among other productions), we indeed find the dramatist consciously introducing a greater number of robust scenes, or developing his plot in terms of several intense episodes (rather than a plot line which requires unvaried attention throughout the production): both characteristics of the Jatra. The interview closes with Dutt elucidating the potential that he finds in the young directors of the day. Several crucial points raised by Dutt in this interview have been discussed in greater detail at relevant places in this book. Samik Bandyopadhyay interviewed Dutt towards the end of the latter’s creative career too, attempting an overview of the dramatist’s entire career in theatre.9 In this interesting conversation, Dutt looks back, and briefly relives, his development as a theatre artist and his significant productions. The nature of the interview does not allow room for in-depth analysis of Dutt’s style or any of his works in particular. However, it touches upon several key issues which may act as starting points of critical enquiries into Dutt’s theatre. Bandyopadhyay also supplies the reader with a chronological list of plays written and/or directed by Dutt, publications on the dramatist, and Dutt’s non-fictional works. I have referred to issues discussed in this interview at various places in the book, wherever relevant.

8 See Utpal Dutt, “Utpal Dutt Interviewed”, interview by Samik Bandyopadhyay, Enact, nos. 68– 69, August–September 1972, n.p. 9 See Samik Bandyopadhyay, Contemporary Indian Theatre—Interviews with Playwrights and Directors (New Delhi: Sangeet Natak Akademi, 1989.

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Nandi Bhatia attempts a detailed understanding of Dutt’s Mahavidroha.10 In her assessment, Bhatia argues that the brutal repression of the mutiny by the British is used as a historical parallel by the dramatist to remind his audience of the similarly brutal repression of the Naxalites in Bengal through the 1960s and 70s. We must bear in mind that Dutt had been lured by Naxalite politics in the late 1960s, and even though he clarified this to be a political error on his part later, he never retracted from his belief that the Naxalite movement, though flawed in method, may be used to inspire generations of commoners with courage to rebel against state atrocities. In agreement with Bhatia’s observations, we also find Dutt’s characterization of Waziran—the sex worker—particularly interesting. Her treatment by the British officials reverses the rhetoric popularized by the British that the War of 1857 was a monstrous attack on civil British folk by barbaric natives. Further, through her interaction with some of the Indians, Dutt brings out the parochialism and patriarchy inherent in contemporary Indian society. I have engaged with Bhatia’s work in greater detail in my assessment of Mahavidroha, which appears in the second chapter. Rustom Bharucha’s Rehearsals of Revolution—The Political Theater of Bengal (1983) is one of the most significant assessments of Dutt’s theatre available in English.11 In the preface, the author establishes the inalienable connection between the sociopolitical climate of Bengal and its tradition of political theatre. Bharucha convincingly argues that theatre, especially that produced in an impoverished society where millions suffer exploitation, must be able to talk about the predicament of the people. It cannot afford to merely entertain the audience. We observe that Dutt’s own views about his revolutionary theatre were similar. His desperation to communicate with the masses made him switch to playing entirely in Bengali, in spite of his initial training in English language theatre. Bharucha closes the preface with a discussion of some key characteristics of political theatre in Bengal, where he explains that it thrives in the political and social milieu of Bengal, and that it is designed to address the concerns of a specific group of people at a particular time. The dramatist’s daughter Bishnupriya Dutt, in an interview with me (discussed in the fourth chapter), explained that Dutt, too, was acutely aware of the ephemeral nature of his revolutionary theatre. He felt that it would not have the desired impact on the audience unless performed in a specific political context, at a particular time. In fact, he was even loath to record performances of his plays for posterity. The opening chapter of Bharucha’s book familiarizes the reader with the history and development of Bengali theatre. The author discusses the pioneering role of the IPTA in organizing a national theatre movement and offering a common platform for practitioners across the country to participate in anti-imperialist theatre. The second chapter is dedicated entirely to Dutt’s theatre. Bharucha, in discussing Dutt’s style, points out that the dramatist seems to have had a flair for presenting memorable 10

See Nandi Bhatia, “Staging the 1857 Mutiny as ‘The Great Rebellion’: Colonial History and Post-Colonial Interventions in Utpal Dutt’s ‘Mahavidroh’”, Theatre Journal 51, no. 2 (May 1999): 167–184. 11 See Rustom Bharucha, Rehearsals of Revolution: The Political Theater of Bengal (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1983).

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villainous characters on stage. He explains that the audience tends to identify with a familiar villain more readily than with a ‘hero’, who may be ‘distant’. We remember Dutt’s presentation of Lenin in Leniner Dak (discussed in the second chapter) in this context, where the Bolshevik leader appears a manifestation of perfection, which seems to distance him from the rank-and-file audience. In contrast, villainous characters like Sasanka Datta (Sanyasir Tarabari) or Savinac (Muktidiksha) seem more believable. I have analysed Dutt’s presentation of the class enemy in the light of his Marxist consciousness as I have engaged with such characterizations at relevant places in this book. Bharucha criticizes Dutt’s Angar for exploiting human misery and suffering in order to create a spectacle for entertainment. We must bear in mind that the dramatist himself did not think too highly of Angar as a revolutionary play in his later life. However, contrary to what Bharucha suggests, the dramatist’s objective in producing Angar was certainly not the creation of spectacle for the sake of entertainment alone. As I have attempted to establish in my discussion of Angar in the fourth chapter, Dutt certainly had an eye for spectacular effects in this production (like he did for most of his productions), but that was meant to ensure that he held the audience’s attention and forced them to be glued to the action on stage. Dutt considered this a precondition that enabled him to effectively dramatize his political subject. As Bharucha suggests, he was a pioneer in contemporary Bengali theatre in terms of his acute awareness of spectacle on stage. But Dutt did not use it merely to ‘entertain’. In discussing Kallol, Bharucha looks at the popularity of Sardul Singh— the protagonist—with askance, wondering whether the audience responds to him for what he represents, or simply for his swagger and larger-than-life stage presence. I have tried to establish in my assessment of Sardul in the third chapter that Dutt was careful not to present Sardul as a conventional hero, worthy of emulation. Sardul cannot be compared to a typical Bollywood hero who is generally seen as a messiah of the people, armed with solutions for every problem; his fist being his most trusted rationale. Sardul is a man of flesh and blood, whose actions are often as deplorable as they are glorious in other parts of the play. Further, Dutt places the commoners as a group, and not Sardul as an individual, at the forefront of the anti-British struggle in Kallol. Bharucha goes on to discuss Ajeya Vietnam next where he shows that Dutt is more interested in swaying the audience’s sympathy in favour of the Vietnamese (and against the Americans) than he is in objective assessment of the historical events that he dramatizes. A close reading of Ajeya Vietnam, as I have attempted in the second chapter, reveals that Dutt seems desperate to drive his audience to hate the Americans and almost worship the Vietnamese. Bharucha finds fault with Dutt’s Tir, stating that the dramatist does not adequately analyse the affliction and discontent of the middle class which contributed to the Naxalite movement that swept across West Bengal in the 1960s and 70s. The rather controversial backdrop of Tir, as well as the play itself, perhaps requires a more elaborate analysis for comprehensive understanding. Tir has been analysed in the second chapter of my book. In his brief discussion of Suryasik¯ar, Bharucha draws our attention to the confrontation between Emperor Samudragupta and the Buddhist monk Kalhan in the light of the conflict between good and evil that is the staple of Jatra. However, the most engaging aspect of Suryasik¯ar is the dialectical characterization of the army chief Hayagriva, which does not find a prominent

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place in Bharucha’s discussion. I have explored Suryasik¯ar at length in the third chapter. In his discussion of Tiner Taloyar, Bharucha observes that the attitude of Benimadhab as theatre director may be assessed in terms of Dutt’s own commitment to theatre. The other characters in Tiner Taloyar, as well as the impressive use of theatrical devices in the production, require elaborate analysis, which I have attempted in the third and fourth chapters. Bharucha discusses Barricade next. He explains the political allegory that is at the heart of the production: the murder of the popular leftist leader Hemanta Kumar Basu in 1971 and the alleged malpractices during the 1972 West Bengal Assembly elections are reflected in the misdemeanour of the Nazis in Germany in the 1930s, that Dutt dramatizes. Bharucha perceptively observes that the dramatist concentrates more on violent, external action rather than on psychological development of characters. The author analyses certain production techniques to argue that Dutt’s stage techniques in Barricade, though derivative at times, are resoundingly theatrical and serve to amplify the intensity of the production. I have analysed Barricade in the second chapter. A recorded performance of Barricade has also been assessed in detail in the fourth chapter. Dusvapner Nagari, which follows Barricade, is the final play taken up for discussion by Bharucha. The author concludes in his assessment that Dutt succeeds in dramatizing popular opinions concerning state atrocities during the National Emergency, but he does not attempt to enhance the political consciousness of his audience. Dusvapner Nagari has been explored in the fourth chapter. In the concluding section of his chapter devoted to Dutt, Bharucha examines the dramatist’s overreliance on entertainment in his revolutionary theatre. He argues that Dutt’s obsessive reliance on entertainment has perhaps been a hindrance for sustained political analysis of events in his theatre. The dramatist has certainly enraptured his audience, but perhaps he has neglected the enhancement of their political consciousness to an extent. I have engaged with this particular aspect of Dutt’s theatre in the fourth chapter. Bharucha’s Rehearsals of Revolution—The Political Theater of Bengal is a significant study of Dutt’s theatre. However, as the author has dealt with Dutt’s theatre in a chapter of his book, he has, understandably, discussed only some of Dutt’s plays in brief. Dutt’s career in theatre which followed the publication of this book (in 1983) has obviously not been represented here. This final phase of Dutt’s career included significant productions like Ajker Shahjahan, Nil Sada Lal, Janatar Aphim, among others. Besides the introductory references given here, I have referred to Bharucha’s work at several relevant places in my book. In addition to these articles/books, the reader must remember that quite a few reviews of performances of Dutt’s plays, immensely helpful in assessing Dutt’s theatre, published in newspapers or other media, are available in English. These reviews have been discussed at relevant places in this book. Further, Dutt himself is credited with two significant theoretical treatises on theatre—Towards A Revolutionary Theatre (1982) and What Is To Be Done? (1986)—both invaluable resources in understanding his drama. I have referred to these works as and where relevant. There is a surprising absence of comprehensive critical engagements with Dutt’s theatre even in Bengali. We will now look at some of the available assessments of Dutt’s work attempted in Bengali. There are some articles which set out to engage

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with his work, but degenerate into unqualified attacks upon the individual. While such articles do not aid our comprehension of Dutt’s work in any way, it is perhaps not out of context to introduce the reader to this rather unfortunate trend in criticism of Dutt’s work through a brief look at a couple of examples. Dipak Sen’s article “Deshitaishir Chhadmabese” sets out to assess Dutt’s essay “Sangramer Arekdik” in the special autumn issue (of 1965) of the magazine Deshitaishi.12 The controversial essay led to the dramatist being tried for sedition and contributed to his arrest in September 1965. Sen, strangely, hardly discusses the essay. Rather, he piles on allegations that are not substantiated with adequate evidence and are, often, ill-tasted attacks directed at the individual. Amal Chatterjee’s letter to the editor of Janasevak alleges that Dutt was hypocritical, for he renounced an honour bestowed by the Sangeet Natak Akademi, even though he had earlier accepted financial aid for his LTG from the same organization.13 These events have been discussed further in the first chapter. Some stray references to Dutt’s acting or stage techniques may be found scattered across newspapers, periodicals, and/or books. Suresh Datta—the set designer for Kallol—provides a brief reminiscence of his association with Dutt.14 The set for Kallol has been elaborately discussed in the fourth chapter. Parthapratim Chaudhuri draws our attention to the novelty of the set for Angar, which presented a pit-front before the audience, or the spectacular effect of the shadow of a fighter jet flying over the Khyber war ship in Kallol.15 However, the author does not provide us with sustained analyses of these stage effects in his essay. Jay Sen briefly discusses the use of light in productions of the People’s Little Theatre Group. Focusing on the production of Dutt’s Titumir in particular, Sen points out that the director himself had suggested that the stage should be decorated in the manner of a forest within which various sets could be suggested.16 The genesis of Titumir as a stage production has been discussed in the fourth chapter. Samar Nag has attempted to recreate Dutt’s rehearsals in his article, which has been discussed in detail in the fourth chapter.17 Partha Bandyopadhyay, in a short but illuminating article on Dutt’s Jatra techniques, observes that the dramatist’s engagement with Jatra marked the initiation of a new era for that medium. Dutt, Bandyopadhyay claims, rescued the medium from repetitive content and superficially generated melodrama. While he did not compromise with his political ideals, he ensured popularity of his Jatra through his technique and choice of topical political subject matter. Dutt’s Jatra plays re-emphasized the martial tradition of our freedom struggle and dealt with certain issues of international significance.18 Dutt’s engagement with Jatra has been explored in the second chapter. Asok 12

See Dipak Sen, “Deshitaishir Chhadmabese”, Basumati, 17 October 1965. Amal Chatterjee, “Natak Akademir Artha Sahajya”, Janasevak, 27 April 1967. 14 See Suresh Datta, “Antaryatik Maner Parichalak”. Ajkal: Rabibasar, 31 March 1991. 15 See Parthapratim Chaudhuri, “Danrao Pathikbar”, Anandalok, 11 September 1993, 28. 16 See Jay Sen, “Titumirer Alo”, Epic Theatre, February 1978, 21. 17 See Samar Nag, “Bhebechhilam Ang Makhbo, Sundar Ektu Sajbo”, Epic Theatre, March–April 1979, 35–40. 18 See Partha Bandyopadhyay, “Jatra: Amader Sikshita Samaj O Utpal Dutt”, Epic Theatre, nos. 7–12, 1989. 13

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Mukhopadhyay claims that Dutt granted comparatively less importance to the development of characters and their complex relationships in his theatre.19 While such an argument may be valid to an extent, it cannot be accepted as a general assessment of Dutt’s theatre. One only needs to turn to Dutt’s memorable stage characterizations (explored in the third chapter) to understand this aspect of Dutt’s technique. Sumit Sarkar, writing on the representation of nineteenth-century Bengali society in Dutt’s theatre, observes that the dramatist has often taken an artist’s liberty in representing history.20 Sarkar draws our attention specifically to the Dakshinaranjan-Emily affair in Jhar or the rescue scene in Agnisajya¯. Dutt attempted to represent the various and varying inclinations of an entire age in most of his historical plays. Perhaps, Dutt had to take certain ‘liberties’ with history to try and achieve this target within the limited scope of a particular play. Dutt’s historical characterizations, like Derozio in Jhar or Rammohun Roy in Agnisajya¯, never invite hero-worship on the part of the audience. Rather, they are seen as creatures of flesh and blood who represent the various contradictory impulses of their age. Dutt’s biographical plays have been explored in the third chapter. Sudeshna Chakrabarti’s “Utpal Dutter Itih¯as Chetan¯a: Darsan, Niti O R¯ajniti” is an important assessment of Dutt’s historical consciousness as evident in his theatre. Chakrabarti’s article has been discussed in the second chapter.21 Dipendu Chakrabarti’s “Natyakar Utpal Dutt: Akti Asampurna Mulyayan” is a significant assessment of Dutt’s theatre.22 Chakrabarti draws our attention to a fallacy in popular assessments of Dutt’s theatre where the dramatist’s plays are not studied closely, but dismissed (or celebrated) on account of hazy recollections of stage performances. The author suggests that this is a general fallacy in our critical tradition that is anyway lean on dramatic criticism. Chakrabarti explains that though dismissing the worth of Indian dramatists by comparing them with their Western counterparts is popular among critics in India, we have, sadly, not been able to assimilate the habit of reading plays widely, that characterizes the best Western critics. If we turn our attention to popular opinions on Dutt’s theatre, we discover that he has generated polarized reactions which have, more often than not, been based on personal likes and dislikes rather than objective analysis of his theatre. As audience or readers, we are certainly entitled to form our opinions on Dutt’s theatre, but we must be careful to base our assessment on an unprejudiced understanding of his works. Chakrabarti further points out that Dutt’s achievements as a dramatist have not been studied with adequate seriousness, owing to, among other reasons, his own renewed insistence that he was no more than a political propagandist. He was committed to the cause of revolution throughout his career and was, thus, prepared to mould his theatre 19

See Asok Mukhopadhyay, “Ananya Prayog Silpi Utpal Dutt”. Epic Theatre, March 1994, 147– 153. 20 See Sumit Sarkar, “Utpal Dutter Natake Unabinsa Satabdir Bangla Samaj”. Epic Theatre, August 2005, 7–14. 21 See Sudeshna Chakrabarti, “Utpal Dutter Itih¯ as Chetan¯a: Darsan, Niti O R¯ajniti”, Epic Theatre, August 2010. 22 See Dipendu Chakrabarti, "Natyakar Utpal Dutt: Ekti Asampurna Mulyayan", Anustup, vol. 12, no. 1, 1977.

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for the rank-and-file. Yet, he could not entirely ignore the aesthetic demands of his artistic consciousness. I have elaborately examined the impact that this apparent conflict had on Dutt’s growth as an artist in the concluding chapter of this book, where Chakrabarti’s arguments have been explored further. Chakrabarti then goes on to briefly discuss some of Dutt’s important plays (up to 1977, when the article was written). This essay ends with a general discussion of Dutt’s style, which I have examined at length in the fourth chapter. However, as Chakrabarti himself points out, the essay is ‘incomplete’ in the sense that it was written on a creative artist who was, at the time, active and continuing to evolve and break new ground. Thus, we should not expect Chakrabarti’s assessment to be a comprehensive verdict on Dutt’s theatre. Surajit Ghosh’s interview of the dramatist familiarizes us with his opinions on a number of issues.23 Here Dutt points out that a dramatist’s primary objective should be to transfer his political convictions to the audience through the medium of his theatre. Innovations in form or stage technique carry no value if the politics inherent in a play does not convince the audience. Dutt’s own practice of didactic theatre has proved his allegiance to the foundational importance of politics in theatre. Commenting on Brecht’s influence on his technique, Dutt tells Ghosh that he has refrained from directly producing a Brechtian play because Brecht, by his own admission, wrote for the German working class, and his form and technique borrowed heavily from European political and cultural history, which may be difficult to comprehend for Dutt’s target audience. This interview has been discussed in greater detail in relevant sections of the second and fourth chapters. Dutt has tried to balance the (often conflicting) demands of quality and popularity in art. In this connection, we may turn our attention to his remarks in an interview with Anjan Banerjee and Jaydip Bagchi, where he claims that once the audience develops its artistic taste, it will no longer be affected by the inane popularity of Hindi films.24 Such a remark appears to be at odds with his attachment to the film industry. Further, the dramatist seems to suggest that the cultural ‘education’ of the audience is an inevitable truth. He has, however, observed at other places that the fate of art cannot be left entirely to the mercy of the market. Dutt’s opinions about the apparent contradiction of quality and popularity in art have been explored in detail in the opening chapter of this book. In an interview with Saibal Mitra, Dutt emphasizes the need for theatre workers to develop a professional attitude towards theatre and consider it as a full-time engagement.25 In his opinion, the state must facilitate a decent lifestyle for a theatre worker to allow him to devote all his attention to his work. Dutt obviously had an idealistic socialist form of governance in mind here, which is perhaps difficult to replicate in the Indian sociopolitical scenario. Dutt himself had to spend a lot of his energy working for quick cash in films which he did not always enjoy. Here, Dutt concedes 23 See Utpal Dutt, “Je N¯ ataker R¯ajniti Bhul, T¯ar Sab Bhul”, interview by Surajit Ghosh, Des, 30 March 1991. 24 See Utpal Dutt, “Utpal Dutt—Samakalin Rajniti-Natak-Chalachitra O Anyanya”, interview by Anjan Banerjee and Joydip Bagchi, Anustup, 5 July 1983. 25 See Utpal Dutt, “Kanta Sainiker Digvijay”, interview by Saibal Mitra, Ajkal, 31 March 1991.

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that those entrusted with the responsibility of leading the theatre movement in Bengal have failed in their role in some respects. In this context, we may conclude that Dutt speaks about his own career as well in retrospect. His theatre has often successfully angered the masses rather than aid their political enlightenment. As pointed out earlier, sustained political analysis has been sacrificed for rabble-rousing in many of his plays. The audience in Bengali theatre continues to lag behind their Western counterparts as far as political maturity is concerned. Mani Guha’s assessment of Dutt’s treatise on the falling apart of the USSR (Pratibiplab) deserves some attention.26 Guha draws attention to what he believes to be the petty-bourgeois compromises in Dutt’s politics and art, clarifying that these ‘flaws’ are more a result of the party leadership failing to guide the artist rather than an ineptitude on Dutt’s part. In this connection, Guha cites the instance of Lenin and Stalin successfully channelizing the excessive emotionalism in Gorky’s work for the cause of the proletariat. The communist leadership in Bengal, by humouring Dutt’s ‘weakness’, has contributed to the dramatist’s under-achievement as an artist. As conscious students of Dutt’s theatre, we must remember that the dramatist was never shy in aggressively advertising his allegiance to the Communist Party. He has claimed that he would not have become a dramatist for the masses had he not functioned within the broad cultural ambit of the communist movement in our country. In another interview with Bibhas Chakrabarti (discussed in the first chapter), he even claimed that he was primarily a political propagandist, rather than an artist. Dutt’s relationship with the Communist Party has been discussed at several relevant sections in this book. Guha discusses the characterizations of the protagonists in Dutt’s Leniner Dak and Stalin-1934 as evidence of Dutt’s petty-bourgeois romanticism. As stated earlier, the dramatist insists on painting these communist leaders as larger-than-life heroes. Pabitra Sarkar observes that Dutt’s discipline or commitment to his cause as a dramatist was not affected by his rather voluminous output.27 The exemplary range of Dutt’s creative output covered myriad aspects of world, as well as Indian, history. Dutt represented a unique confluence of talents as, simultaneously, director, dramatist, actor rolled into one. Sarkar points out that Dutt’s understanding of world history has been heavily influenced by Marxian dialectics. Even in his characterization, Dutt’s historical figures often seem at odds with the ‘accepted’ image of that figure in popular psyche. The impact of Marxian dialectics on Dutt’s dramatic characterization has been studied in the third chapter. Saubhik Raychaudhuri attempts a rudimentary psychological assessment of Dutt’s persona that is reflected in his art.28 I have assessed various aspects of Raychaudhuri’s article in connection with the development of Dutt’s creative consciousness in the opening chapter. Raychaudhuri’s Ajker Shahjahan Prasange analyses the protagonist

26

See Mani Guha, “Utpal Dutter ‘Pratibiplab’: Ekti Marxbadi Mulyayan”, Raurab, year 18, AprilSeptember 1993. 27 See Pabitra Sarkar, “Natyakar Utpal Dutt”, Epic Theatre, March 1994, 142–146. 28 See Saubhik Raychaudhuri, “Utpal Dutt: Manan Theke Srijane: Ekti Amimansita Manastattik Niriksha”, Epic Theatre, March 1998, 92–94.

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of Dutt’s Ajker Shahjahan, Kunjabihari Chakrabarti, in terms of the latter’s similarities with his creator.29 An analysis of Kunja’s nature (examined in the third chapter) reveals the validity of Raychaudhuri’s argument that this particular character (along with Benimadhab in Tiner Taloyar) helps us understand key aspects of Dutt’s own persona, in the absence of an authentic autobiography. A special issue of the magazine Epic Theatre (1986) was dedicated to Kallol to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the first performance of the epoch-making production. Several contributors reminisced about various aspects of the production in their articles. The significant articles from this issue of Epic Theatre have been discussed at relevant places in the third and fourth chapters. Baharampur Repertory Theatre published “Black Power” on the occasion of the troupe’s performance of Manusher Adhikare in August 2005. Various articles concerning the contemporary relevance of the production, discussions of the play’s original run, and its historical genesis have been collected in this pamphlet. The repertory has also included some documents pertaining to the history of the struggle for self-determination of the blacks in America, which forms the backdrop of Manusher Adhikare. The issues raised in these works have been explored in my detailed study of Manusher Adhikare in the third and fourth chapters. Along with these articles/pamphlets, several reviews of performances of Dutt’s plays published in newspapers discuss various stylistic features as well as content of Dutt’s theatre. These reviews feature prominently at several places in this book, as part of my detailed exploration of relevant productions. The reader may be introduced to the few significant Bengali books that engage with Dutt’s work in the theatre. Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, edited by Prasanta Dan and Jayanta Ray, brings together a few essays on Dutt.30 Prasanta Dan, in “Utpal Dutt Ubacha”, presents Dutt’s own views on various aspects of his work. Dutt, in responses to questions put by Dan, opines that plots should be driven primarily by political discourse. Dramatic conflict is generally engineered by the dramatist and thus influenced by his political convictions. A dramatist, in Dutt’s opinion, must strive to be creative and popular at the same time. Theatre compels practitioners to be relevant to their contemporary audience. Thus, no experiment designed for the stage can afford to leave the audience behind. In this context, we must remember that Dutt was careful throughout his career not to introduce stage techniques or other forms of experimentation that could carry his theatre beyond the grasp of the general theatre audience. The dramatist clarifies here that his theatre has enjoyed continued popularity among theatregoers because he has taken care to choose subjects that reflect the common man’s struggles, his anger, and his inherent potential for rebellion. Unlike some of his contemporaries, his theatre does not carry complex and abstruse ideas that the general audience might find difficult to comprehend. A quick glance at Dutt’s oeuvre convinces us that the dramatist mostly had the cause of the common 29

See Saubhik Raychaudhuri, Ajker Shahjahan Prasange”. Epic Theatre, June–October 1986, 4–8. 30 See Prasanta Dan and Jayanta Ray eds., Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, Kolkata: Mahua Publishing Company, 1978.

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man in mind when he chose his subject matter. Dutt’s opinions about successful innovations in theatre have been analysed in the second chapter. Satya Bandyopadhyay’s “Janaika Kata Sainiker Jabanbandi” is a brief assessment of Dutt’s most noteworthy production techniques. While the article promises to be an illuminating study of Dutt’s theatre, it disappoints the reader to an extent on account of the absence of sustained analysis of the points raised by the author. Satya Bandyopadhyay was one of Dutt’s closest associates, and, arguably, the one best suited to assess Dutt’s theatre both as a close witness and as a critic. But, Bandyopadhyay seems to hurry on from one argument to another before he convinces us with adequate examples or detailed examination of the concerned productions. The significant points raised in this essay have been examined in the fourth chapter, devoted to assessment of Dutt’s techniques. The acclaimed actor Rabi Ghosh started his career with Dutt’s LTG. He remembers his association with Dutt in “Sei Sab Dingulo”. Ghosh recollects the days that he spent with the LTG with fondness as the best time of his life and emphasizes Dutt’s pioneering position among his contemporaries as the foremost director-dramatist-actor in the country. Sova Sen pens a personal memoir of Dutt in “Kachh Theke Dekha”, where she expresses her hope that future generations will remember Dutt’s work in theatre. Prasanta Bhattacharya’s “Sursandhani” discusses Dutt’s expertise as a designer of music meant exclusively for his theatre. I have analysed Dutt’s use of various stage devices in the fourth chapter. Samir Majumdar’s “Biruddha Samalochanar Uttare” confronts adverse criticism of Dutt’s work. In the author’s opinion, Dutt’s theatre suffers unjust criticism at the hands of supporters of “pure art”. While there is some truth in Majumdar’s argument, readers perhaps would be better served if he had dealt with a few instances exhaustively rather than making rather generalized remarks. Arun Mukhopadhyay, in “Triveni Sangam”, makes significant observations about Dutt’s special skills as an actor perfectly suited to the stage. The points raised in this essay have been engaged with in the fourth chapter, where I have studied Dutt’s acting. Tapas Sen’s “Abhijnatar Aloy” relives the manner in which Dutt and his troupe had to overcome stiff financial challenges to design sets for grand productions like Angar. I have assessed Sen’s work with lights in Angar in the fourth chapter. Two anthologies of essays on Dutt deserve special attention. The Government of West Bengal organized a theatre festival dedicated to Utpal Dutt in 2005. As part of this festival, the Natyotsav Committee published a collection of essays on Dutt called Utpal Dutt—Ek Samagrik Abalokan. The literary magazine Sabda dedicated its 2010 special issue to Utpal Dutt. The editors of both these volumes manage to bring together an admirable range of contributors who deal with a number of significant issues pertaining to Dutt’s career as a creative artist, including his work in theatre, Jatra, and films. Some important interviews of Dutt have been anthologized, along with a few of his poems and letters. The magazines also contain chronological timelines of Dutt’s involvement in theatre, Jatra, films and television serials, the dramatist’s life, and a list of books authored by him. Some of the essays anthologized in these volumes have appeared elsewhere too, but the editors must be lauded for their effort in bringing together such an admirable range of essays and memoirs on

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Dutt. I have referred to essays anthologized in these volumes at relevant places in my book. Sova Sen’s autobiographical book-length memoir Smarane Bismarane: Navanna Theke Laldurga is a fairly detailed account of her long and illustrious acting career.31 Since marrying Dutt in 1961, Sen was his strongest pillar of support in his personal life as well as his most trusted professional companion. The significant influence that Sen had on Dutt’s art has been elaborately discussed in the first chapter. Sen, understandably, does not attempt to engage critically with Dutt’s theatre in Smarane Bismarane. However, there are numerous references to Dutt that are of crucial importance in knowing the dramatist’s personal life as well as understanding his theatre. Sen’s anecdotal style of narration makes her book interesting reading even for uninitiated lay readers. I have referred to Sen’s memoir at several places in my book, wherever relevant. Satya Bandyopadhyay’s Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre is an important study of Dutt’s theatre.32 Considering Bandyopadhyay’s long association with Dutt, coupled with his intellectual grasp of the subject matter, readers certainly expect this work to be a comprehensive study of Dutt’s theatre. However, we are disappointed to an extent. Bandyopadhyay, like he does in his essay referred to earlier, initiates numerous crucial arguments relevant to the subject, but hardly develops them with adequate care. He seems keen to move on from one point to the next even before he proves his point with the aid of necessary examples and adequate argument. Bandyopadhyay’s book is divided into four chapters which deal with, respectively, the symbiotic relationship between Marxism and Dutt’s understanding of theatre, the communist movement in India and Dutt, Dutt as a practitioner of modern theatre, and Dutt’s ideology. The book may initiate some curiosity about Dutt’s theatre among theatre enthusiasts who are in the dark as far as its chosen subject is concerned. But it hardly encourages intellectual evaluation of Dutt’s theatre. The book is completely devoid of academic references and so does little to further intellectual curiosity as far as assessment of Dutt’s theatre is concerned. The present work deals with Dutt’s theatre much more comprehensively. The arguments proposed have been adequately supported with as many references as necessary, including both academic references and comments/analyses made by Dutt’s associates and contemporaries. Further, the present work deals with Dutt’s entire dramatic oeuvre, encompassing his original work in proscenium, Jatra as well as street theatre. Significant issues raised by Bandyopadhyay have been assessed in relevant sections in the second and fourth chapters. Arup Mukhopadhyay’s Utpal Dutt: Jivan O Srishti and Utpal Manas are important biographical studies of the dramatist.33 These books are intended for the general lay readership and focus primarily on Dutt’s life. In Jivan O Srishti, the author divides his 31 See Sova Sen, Smarane Bismarane: Navanna Theke Laldurga. Kolkata: M.C. Sarkar and Sons, 1993. 32 See Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre. Kolkata: Papyrus, 1996. 33 See Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt: Jivan O Srishti. New Delhi: National Book Trust, 2010; Utpal Manas. Kolkata: Dip Prakasan, 2012.

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work into chapters in accordance with important phases of the dramatist’s personal life. Mukhopadhyay appends useful chronological lists of Dutt’s association with theatre, films where he acted, his street-corner plays, his non-fictional works, and significant books on Dutt. The author does not venture to critically evaluate Dutt’s theatre. Utpal Manas brings together eleven essays by the author on various aspects of Dutt’s life and art. While there are three essays dedicated to particular plays (Tiner Taloyar, Manusher Adhikare, and Kiratparva), the author’s primary objective in this work is to introduce the reader to the development of Dutt’s creative consciousness. While I have provided a short biographical introduction to the dramatist in the first chapter, the present work primarily attempts a comprehensive critical examination of Dutt’s theatre. However, relevant references to these works have been made wherever required. In addition to the articles, interviews, and books discussed here, the reader must be reminded that there is a vast corpus of essays, reminiscences, and theoretical explorations of various aspects of theatre written by Dutt himself. Besides being a practitioner, Dutt was also a Marxist intellectual and theatre expert of great acclaim. It must be emphasized that the most helpful critical repertoire for understanding Dutt’s theatre has been provided by the dramatist himself. His complete prose works, collected in two volumes, have featured prominently at several places in my discussion of his theatre. As the first book-length appraisal in English of Dutt’s theatre career, this book deals with Dutt’s theatre comprehensively. The arguments proposed have been adequately supported with as many references as necessary, including both academic references and comments/analyses made by Dutt’s associates and contemporaries. As a major point of departure from existing scholarship on Dutt’s work, this book deals with Dutt’s entire dramatic oeuvre, encompassing his original work in proscenium, Jatra as well as street theatre. My assessment is not limited to any one, or a few, aspect/s of Dutt’s theatre. Rather, his oeuvre has been examined taking into consideration various creative aspects of his art. As stated earlier, Dutt had a significant acting career in both Hindi and Bengali cinemas. His acting in cinema, like his work in theatre, has not received serious intellectual exploration. Dutt’s film career deserves comprehensive assessment in an independent study. Dutt’s film career has not been included in this book because, considering the vast corpus of his work in both theatre and film, it is not practically feasible to critically examine his work in both media adequately in a single book. Perhaps, neither is it just. Hopefully, our wait for a comprehensive academic study of Dutt’s film career will not be too long. This introductory note may be concluded with a brief look at the subsequent chapters in this book, so that the reader gets an idea of what he/she may expect to encounter in the following pages. The opening chapter provides a short biographical introduction to Dutt. Since the primary subject of critical enquiry is not his life, events that pertain purely to his domestic life have not been explored. However, all events that left an impression on his artistic consciousness have been discussed in chronological order. His introduction to his mentor Geoffrey Kendal and his early education as a stage-actor in English theatre productions at St. Xavier’s College have

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been explored. After introducing the reader to Dutt’s college days and the activities of The Amateur Shakespearians—the first theatre group set up by him—the discussion moves on to the formation of the Little Theatre Group in February 1949. The reader is then introduced to Dutt’s association with the Indian People’s Theatre Association, where his significant performances under the IPTA banner, before his unceremonious dissociation from that organization, have been discussed. His career in street theatre, as well as his foray into Jatra, has been adequately analysed with suitable examples. The discussion, briefly, moves on to the LTG productions beginning from the early fifties through to its Minerva phase, where the unique contribution made by the LTG to Bengali theatre has been examined. Dutt’s formation of the Vivek Natya Samaj, and, subsequently, the People’s Little Theatre (PLT), has been highlighted. All of Dutt’s original plays have been mentioned chronologically, with greater emphasis on his iconic productions. Towards the end of the chapter, probable reasons behind the intellectual neglect that Dutt suffered in his own lifetime, and even now, have been explored. The chapter closes with a generalized assessment of Dutt’s theatre career. The second chapter is devoted to Dutt’s politics and the manner in which it influenced his theatre. The chapter begins with a detailed exploration of Dutt’s understanding of political theatre. Certain important features of political theatre in general have been analysed. Dutt’s study of revolutionary theatre acquainted him with various concepts of political theatre, especially those popular in the USSR and China. The impact of Soviet socialist realism and Chinese revolutionary theatre on Dutt’s works has been studied in detail. Dutt’s contribution to the Jatra tradition of Bengal, which was a notable instance of adapting a commercial enterprise to achieve the ends of political theatre, has been examined. Some of his major plays have been analysed in the light of the politics inherent in them. The third chapter is devoted to a study of characterization in Dutt’s theatre. It opens with a discussion of Dutt’s negotiation of the apparently contradictory styles of characterization stipulated by Stanislavski’s method of psychological realism (which Dutt revered) and Marxist theory that stipulates characters must represent their socioeconomic class. The discussion moves on to Dutt’s art of characterization in the light of Marxian dialectics, where some of his memorable stage characterizations have been examined to understand his application of dialectics in theatre. By way of concluding the chapter, the suitability of Dutt’s method of characterization to his political purpose has been assessed. The fourth chapter introduces the reader to Dutt’s direction style, acting, and stagecraft. Dutt never ceased his search for suitable theatrical methods that would enable him to carry his ideological message effectively. His views on various stage conventions, modern techniques, experiments, and use of stage décor, lights, and sound in theatre are discussed. Dutt accorded massive importance to the popularity of revolutionary theatre. In fact, his preference for entertainment and oversimplification of plots was often an impediment to sustained political analysis of complex historical events. The possible reasons behind the sustained popularity of most of Dutt’s productions have been examined. The influence of Brechtian theatre on his stage technique has been explored. Though recordings of performances of Dutt’s plays are rare, I have managed to access a recoded performance of Barricade, which

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has been exhaustively analysed. The analysis will help readers, especially those not old enough to have had a chance to witness Dutt’s legendary productions on stage, understand Dutt’s stage techniques better. The concluding chapter discusses Dutt’s legacy in theatre. His theatre provides us with an opportunity to study the dynamic relationship between his socipal identity as a committed Marxist and that as a creative artist. His impact on post-Independence Bengali theatre was not analogous to that of most of his predecessors. He has generally been misunderstood as a controversial propagandist who used theatre to merely further his political agenda. In the concluding section, noteworthy performances of Dutt’s plays (or works that refer to his theatre) since his passing, both in Bengal and outside the state, have been discussed with due importance in an attempt to establish his impact and legacy. Recent noteworthy intellectual engagements with Dutt’s theatre have been discussed. The chapter closes with a renewed emphasis on the need to preserve Dutt’s artistic heritage in our theatre. Following the fifth chapter, the book carries an appendix where the reader is provided with a chronological list of the opening performances of all the original dramatic works of Utpal Dutt. It has been my endeavour in this book to critically analyse and establish Dutt’s unique contribution to the legacy of Indian theatre. I hope that readers will be convinced that, contrary to popular opinion, Dutt’s theatre has several enduring aesthetic qualities (that exist alongside provocative political content) which deserve serious intellectual attention.

Contents

1 Life: Genesis of Dramaturgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

2 Politics: The Engagement of Ideological Convictions and Thematics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

27

3 Characterization: An Exploration of Marxian Dialectics in Theatre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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4 On Stage: Direction, Acting, and Stagecraft in Productions . . . . . . . . . 117 5 Legacy: Which Utpal Dutt Lives On? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Appendix (List of First Performances of Dutt’s plays) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179

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About the Author

Dr. Uddalak Dutta is presently employed as an Assistant Professor at the Department of English, Banwarilal Bhalotia College, Asansol, India. He completed his doctoral research at the Department of English, Jadavpur University, Kolkata in 2020, under the supervision of Prof. Ananda Lal, where he worked on the theatre of Utpal Dutt. His research interests include political theatre, modern Indian theatre, Marxist theatre, Shakespeare, and Tagore’s theatre. He has published research articles based on his areas of research in several academic journals and edited books.

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Chapter 1

Life: Genesis of Dramaturgy

Utpal Ranjan Dutt was born to Girija Ranjan Dutt and Sailabala Dutt on 29 March 1929. Contrary to a popular misconception that his place of birth was Shillong in present-day Meghalaya (originated by Dutt himself), he was born at Kirtankhola in the Barisal district of Bengal in the then British India, now in Bangladesh.1 He was the fourth sibling, among eight, in the Dutt household. Girija Ranjan had started his professional career as a professor of English at Bangabasi College, Calcutta. Later he became a government officer in the administrative capacity of a commandant. The present equivalent of this post would be that of a jailer. The Dutt family had to shift base from one district to another because of the nature of Girija Ranjan’s employment. Dutt started his schooling at St. Edmund’s School, Shillong, in 1935. Subsequently, the family moved to Berhampore in Bengal, and Utpal, along with his younger brother Nilin, was admitted to Krishnath College School there. The young Dutt was exposed to incidents of attempted violence on his father who was infamous for torturing captured nationalist rebels. These scenes of resistance remained etched in his memory and perhaps contributed to the content of his later revolutionary drama. Dutt was a precocious child, especially in terms of his memory. He could recite Shakespeare with admirable ease, so much so that he was called upon to entertain guests with his recitation skills. Girija Ranjan was transferred to Calcutta in 1939, thus introducing the dramatist to the city that would nurture him for the rest of his life. The Dutts chose to stay in the aristocratic locality of Ballygunge in south Calcutta, and Utpal was admitted to the fifth standard at St. Lawrence High School, run by the Society of Jesus, at the age of ten. One might venture to observe that Dutt grew up in a quite well-to-do household, enjoying the privileges of an aristocratic lifestyle—in stark contrast to the run-down state of the lives of the working class who he was to champion in his plays. Much later, Dutt pointed out that an artist requires such “decent poverty”, if not 1

Most of the biographical details presented in this book have been taken from Arup Mukhopadhyay’s biography of Dutt. Interested readers may take a look at Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt: Jivan O Srishti (New Delhi: National Book Trust, 2010).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0_2

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wealth or richness.2 The members of society must ensure that an artist enjoys such a state of being; the artist, in turn, owes allegiance to society. Dutt certainly enjoyed the fulfilment of this precondition in his formative years. His father inculcated in him a love for world literature, especially Shakespeare, at a very young age. His elder brother Mihir Ranjan would also read stories from Shakespeare to the younger siblings. In 1943, St. Lawrence High School was temporarily shifted to Dum Dum as the school building was taken over by the British army during the World War. This necessitated a change of school as Dum Dum, located at the northern end of the city, was too far away from the Dutts’ residence. Dutt was then admitted to the ninth standard at St. Xavier’s Collegiate School. In the same year, he debuted as an actor. He played the Second Gravedigger in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, produced jointly by St. Xavier’s School and College (under the aegis of the famous Sans Souci Players), and directed by the Jesuit Father Weaver who was attached to the renowned Abbey Theatre in Dublin before coming to St. Xavier’s College.3 Thus, there was a strain of professionalism associated even with the early stages of Dutt’s training in theatre. His legendary reading habit, which would flourish for the rest of his life, took roots in his school days. He read voraciously—Lenin, Marx, Engels, and even promoted himself to Hegel, Feuerbach, and Kant while still at school.4 His Marxist consciousness, the importance of which cannot be overestimated in the growth of his artistic temperament, also dates back to these tumultuous years of the World War. The impact of political ideology on the growth of his creative consciousness will be assessed closely in the following chapter. He was drawn to the activities of the Communist Party of India and its mass organization, the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), which called for a unified people’s struggle to prevent fascist imperialism around the world. The fearful food crisis soon followed in 1943–1944. The IPTA produced Navanna (The New Harvest) in such a social milieu. This production became a landmark in the history of Indian theatre and influenced Dutt immensely. He was convinced of the need for theatre which was pro-people and would lend voice to the marginalized and downtrodden. Dutt learnt of the power of theatre primarily through first-hand expositions to the form. The immense theoretical knowledge that he was able to amass over the course of his career was ably complemented with practical lessons about the potential of theatre as a weapon for social change. As a practitioner later, these early lessons never deserted him; and in spite of several obstacles, his stand in favour of the proletariat remained in place, in spite of certain aberrations, as we shall explore in this book. Dutt first felt an inclination to associate himself with professional theatre during his days at St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. The five years that he spent at this iconic educational institution (1945–1949) enriched him intellectually and spiritually to a 2

See Utpal Dutt, “Kanta Sainiker Digvijay”, interview by Saibal Mitra, Ajkal, 31 March 1991. See Sushil Kumar Mukherjee, The Story of the Calcutta Theatres (Calcutta: K. P. Bagchi & Co., 1982), 370. 4 Dutt reminisces his formative years. See Utpal Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, in Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre (Kolkata: Natyachinta, 2005). 3

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degree that is difficult to overestimate. The college library in those days used to be a veritable gold mine, and Dutt spent an enormous amount of time devouring books on Shakespeare, Stanislavski, Brecht, and countless other pioneers of world theatre. He sustained his habit of voracious reading throughout life. This ensured his unique position of respect as the foremost intellectual in the world of Bengali theatre later in life. One of the distinguishing traits of Dutt’s dramatic oeuvre was its wide range and scope. He dramatized issues relevant to the state of the proletariat around the world—an enterprise that demanded thorough knowledge of the history, politics, and economic structures of the various social systems that formed the backdrop for his works. Dutt’s insatiable thirst for knowledge, developed early in life, would prove to be his principal weapon when he took up cudgels against exploitation in his theatre. Owing to his knowledge, even his creative works never seemed entirely imaginary, but firmly based on thorough understanding of society and politics. Dutt formed his first theatre group The Amateur Shakespearians during his college days, with members of the third year B.A. and B. Com. classes “with the object of portraying the famous scenes of Shakespeare”.5 According to the testimony of the secretary of the group, E. M. Poonavala, The Amateur Shakespearians made its debut on 8 October 1947 before a packed college hall with three scenes from Romeo and Juliet and two from Macbeth. This event proved to be a decisive turning point in Dutt’s career—not merely did it signal his introduction as a stage director; more importantly, on that day three members of the famous English touring troupe Shakespeareana, Eileen Garner, Jennifer Bragg, and Geoffrey Richards, were present in the audience. The troupe was hunting for local talent to supplement their touring party, and Dutt’s performance paved the way for his association with his acknowledged mentor Geoffrey Kendal, the director of Shakespeareana. This creative partnership deserves a closer look in a subsequent section of this chapter. It was a natural consequence of Dutt’s training in college that his initial forays into the world of theatre featured Shakespeare prominently. Most of his Shakespeare productions date to the period 1947–1954, when he was associated with the Amateur Shakespearians (and the early years of the Little Theatre Group). At the time, Dutt was yet to develop his strong political orientation that would distinguish his later works.6 Thus, choosing classics like Shakespeare’s would not have appeared odd. He went back to a series of Shakespeare productions in commemoration of the Bard’s quadricentennial in 1964, when he staged Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Julius Caesar.7 There was no political motivation behind these productions either. Shakespeare did not feature prominently in his later repertoire, except the production of Macbeth in 1975 which, according to Dutt, was the most apt play 5

For a detailed account, see E. M. Poonavala, “The Amateur Shakespearians”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, December 1947, no page number provided. The spelling “Shakespearians” may surprise readers. I have followed the spelling used by Poonavala (secretary of the group) in his article carried in the college magazine. 6 The renowned critic Samik Bandyopadhyay confirmed the view in an interaction with me. Refer Samik Bandyopadhyay, interview, 10 September 2018. 7 For dates of Dutt’s Shakespeare productions, refer Samik Bandyopadhyay, Contemporary Indian Theatre, 21.

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to attack Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s alleged autocratic methods of governance, which culminated in the promulgation of National Emergency.8 His last prominent Shakespeare production was A Midsummer Night’s Dream on 15 January 1989 (translated into Bengali as Chaitali Rater Svapna by Dutt himself), as he had been invited to direct the first performance of the state government’s newly formed Paschim Banga Natya Akademi. Dutt’s initiation into theatre through Shakespeare proved to be blessing for him. In case of classics like Shakespeare’s, the audience tends to have a preconceived notion about the desirable standards of a production. Dutt thus learnt to grapple with the expectations of an audience at a young age. Even as a director and an actor yet to mature, he dealt with the challenges of playing Shakespeare admirably. He showed, more convincingly than any other contemporary Indian director-actor, that it was possible to play Shakespeare in English before an Indian audience. Later in his career, he even produced Shakespeare in Bengali translations for the masses, primarily in rural Bengal, with admirable success.9 Dutt did not pioneer Shakespeare productions in Bengali, but he deserves to be credited for having established that performances of Shakespeare need not necessarily be limited to intellectual audiences in urban auditoria. Dutt’s consummate skill as a stage actor manifested itself first in Shakespeare productions at St. Xavier’s College.10 Noteworthy performances of The Amateur Shakespearians included A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Twelfth Night, Richard III, and Othello. Dutt did not hesitate to interpret some of these plays experimentally. Noteworthy instances include performances of Julius Caesar where Dutt read the play in the context of the rise of fascism around the world in the 1930s and 1940s. Shakespeare’s presentation of the historical Roman emperor assumed new relevance when Dutt’s actors trod on stage clad in modern costume representing a contemporary fascist regime.11 Not all of his experiments, however, were viewed in positive light. The Amateur Shakespearians played Romeo and Juliet, foisted with socialist interpretations. The production was reviewed adversely in the college magazine: It was ridiculous of Utpal to try to impose modern socialist meaning on an ancient tale of frustrated passions … It would be ludicrous to expect their surreptitious amorous affairs to throw light on or be lit by modern Marxist thought.12

Dutt did not limit himself to stage-acting during his college days. A budding intellectual, he contributed quite a few articles of remarkable critical acumen to the college magazine between 1946 and 1949. These included “A Glance at Modern Russian 8

See Samik Bandyopadhyay, Contemporary Indian Theatre, 21. The performances of Macbeth especially struck a chord with the rural populace. See Sova Sen, Smarane Bismarane: Navanna Theke Laldurga, (Kolkata: M.C. Sarkar and Sons), 1993, 37. 10 The secretary of The Amateur Shakespearians, E. M. Poonavala, emphasizes Dutt’s acting quality in his reports published in the college magazine. See E. M. Poonavala, “The Amateur Shakespearians”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, December 1947, n.p. P. Lal corroborates the idea: P. Lal, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, December 1948, n.p. 11 See Theatre Critic, “July 15–16-17: Julius Caesar”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, vol. x, no. 4, 1950, 15 onwards. 12 P. Lal, “Romeo & Juliet”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, July 1949, n.p. 9

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Literature” (1946), “Bastabata O Bangla Sahitya” (Realism and Bengali Literature, 1946), “Three Bengali Novelists” (1947), “Symphony” (1947), and “Shakespeare and the Modern Stage” (1949).13 As the secretary of the English Academy, he read a paper titled “The Scepticism of Bertrand Russell” (1948).14 Dutt’s first published play, Betty Belshazzar, also appeared on the pages of the magazine. An amusing incident surrounds the publication of this play. P. Lal, an acting editor of the July 1949 issue, was desperate to get Dutt to contribute a creative piece. After all strategies of persuasion failed, he exercised his discretion as an acting editor and promised Dutt to reward the best contribution in cash. After the magazine was published, Dutt was paid Rs. 20, “the first cash award for the best contribution of original creative merit submitted by a bonafide student for this issue of Saint Xavier’s Magazine”.15 Needless to say, such unprecedented ‘professionalism’ did not go down well with the Jesuit administration, and Lal was removed as an acting editor following this incident.16 Along with Dutt and Lal, Romen Mookerjee and Tarun Roy formed a formidable quartet in college—each brilliant in his own way, fiercely competitive, and as suggested above, not averse to throwing occasional side blows. It is safe to assume that such an atmosphere among peers of comparable merit, which never threatened friendship, enriched Dutt. To Dutt’s contemporaries in college, his erudition and ability to assess society and history from a Marxist point of view were qualities that set him apart. His wit, wisdom, and personality admirably complemented his wide reading to charm, and, to an extent, inspire a sense of awe in his contemporaries. He exuded a sense of flamboyance that was not known to his peers. The secret of the success of Dutt’s endeavours, even during his formative years in college, lays in his uncompromising sense of discipline. He imparted a lesson to his contemporaries that nothing can be achieved without discipline.17 Dutt’s thorough foundational knowledge of world theatre— coupled with his charm and charisma—encouraged discussions about drama among his peers. These enriching discussions provoked his interest further, just as they educated his peers. Their enthusiasm in understanding the sociopolitical contexts of plays ensured acting of merit. Dutt was also able to generate an interest about the English language in all his actor friends. He carefully inculcated a sense of discipline into his creative endeavours while in college. Perhaps, the general atmosphere of a Jesuit institution like St. Xavier’s inspired him in this regard. Later in life, Dutt thrived on this sense of discipline acquired during his college days. Towards the end of his career, Dutt regretted that a lack of discipline hindered the professional 13

Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt, 18–19. Utpal Dutt, “The English Academy”, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, December 1948, n.p. 15 P. Lal, footnote appended to Betty Belshazzar, Saint Xavier’s Magazine, July 1949, n.p. 16 P. Lal, “Good Night, Sweet Comrade” Epic Theatre, nos. 4–8, 1994, 13. 17 Some of Dutt’s contemporaries in college have left behind illuminating reminiscences of their days spent in Dutt’s company at St. Xavier’s College. See, for instance, Debabrata Mukhopadhyay, “Utpalranjan: Ekti Sankshipta Smriticharan”, Epic Theatre, March 1996, 54; Anil Chatterjee, “Sahapathi Bandhur Kachhe Ja Sikhechhi Tar Tulana Nei”, Epic Theatre, March 1996, 57; R. H. Lesser, “Remembering Utpal Dutt”, Epic Theatre, March 1996, 48–49. 14

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advancement of most theatre groups.18 Dutt’s uncompromising sense of discipline rubbed onto the theatre groups that he worked with, as we shall see later in this book. It allowed him to don several hats—director, dramatist, actor, and Marxist intellectual—simultaneously, with admirable ease. Geoffrey Kendal’s Shakespeareana toured Calcutta in late 1947. They were to perform at St. Xavier’s. Dutt’s first full-fledged directorial venture, Richard III, was performed on the St. Xavier’s College stage on 22 December 1947. Kendal, who had watched Dutt as Richard in the production, offered him a position in his touring troupe. Here is Dutt’s own recollection of his first meeting with his mentor: Kendal’s offer made my blood boil with excitement … He was ready to make me a professional actor if I agreed to renounce the irritating cycle of college lectures, examinations and textbooks. My first professional essay would be as Antonio in The Merchant of Venice. Rehearsals were to begin at 9 o’clock the next morning.19

Kendal’s teaching and his scientific system of rehearsals transformed Dutt into a professional actor of international standards. Dutt’s attitude towards theatre underwent a massive change during his days with Kendal. The punishing world of professional theatre stared him in the face, washing away whatever little there was of romantic illusions concerning theatre. Here, he learned make-up, voice modulation, various physical exercises, and special skills like fencing; even his motivation to learn French went back to his association with Kendal’s group. Dutt played Ross in Macbeth, Decius in Julius Caesar, Sir Charles in She Stoops to Conquer, Roderigo in Othello, and various other roles during his first stint with Shakespeareana. Kendal returned for another season in India in 1953–1954. This group boasted of a greater number of brilliant actors—Kendal, his wife Laura Liddell, their daughters Jennifer and Felicity, Brian Kellet, Connor Farrington, and many others. This, however, did not deter Kendal from directing with an iron hand. He was an old-school British professional who had learned his trade the hard way, and he did not think twice before applying similar principles in his training. Dutt recounts one such incident where he was ruthlessly reprimanded—and even hit with a pair of heavy boots—for forgetting to play music for the final scene of a performance of Romeo and Juliet in Allahabad: Kendal’s anger knew no bounds, he kept mumbling “Shame on you, you don’t belong, you don’t belong”. It was my mentor’s chastisement that hurt me much more than the bruises caused by the boots. I learnt a lot that night.20

The schedule that Shakespeareana followed required uncompromising commitment and a sense of discipline not very different to that imposed in military barracks. They started the day at 8 A.M. with rhythmic exercises; rehearsals for the subsequent production would begin at 9 A.M. and finish at 5 P.M. The current production 18

See Utpal Dutt, “Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre”, interview by Partha Bandyopadhyay, in Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre, 105–106. 19 Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 11. Translation mine. All translations into English from resource material in Bengali used for this book are mine, unless specified otherwise. 20 Ibid., 12.

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opened at 7 P.M. Another important lesson that Dutt learned from Kendal was that an actor also had to be an intellectual. The Kendals were typical intellectuals who found interest in all matters concerning mankind. An absurd, yet steadfast, urge to read up all there is of world literature seemed to inspire them. Dutt, in his own career, tried his best to emulate his mentor in this regard. To the young Dutt, Kendal was himself a supreme example of a professional actor: his technique, style, voice modulations, and bodily gestures attained such a level of perfection where they would function without the slightest glitch even when the actor was completely absent-minded.21 Dutt never minced words in acknowledging his debt to Shakespeareana. It has already been suggested that from a very early stage in his career Dutt acutely felt the need for a theatre that would champion the marginalized working class. He dreamt of reaching out to the masses with his theatre. The limitations of college productions in this regard worried him. Owing primarily to the enthusiasm of Dutt and Pratap Roy, the Amateur Shakespearians started to perform outside the college premises at places like New Empire hall. In February 1949, their name was changed to Little Theatre Group.22 The newly named group started its journey with Clifford Odets’s Waiting for Lefty in 1950. Other popular productions of this phase include Shakespeare’s Othello (30 April 1950), Shaw’s Androcles and the Lion (14 August 1950), Odets’s Till the Day I Die (9 November 1950), Shakespeare’s Macbeth (November 1951), and Shaw’s Arms and the Man (19 November 1952). The Little Theatre Group (LTG), as well as its predecessor the Amateur Shakespearians, depended heavily on Dutt’s skill as an actor and director for the success of its productions; and he did not disappoint. The nascent LTG proved a worthy competitor to the well-established English theatre group, the Dramatic Club of Calcutta.23 Dutt’s aptitude for theatre was evident in these early performances. The LTG soon realized that English plays, though successful as productions, would never help them to fulfil their dream of taking theatre to the working class. It was decided by the members in a meeting that they would turn to playing entirely in Bengali, and they would preach social revolution in their theatre.24 Therefore, the LTG opened its Bengali phase with Siuli Majumdar’s translation of Ibsen’s Ghosts (26 November 1950 at New Empire, Calcutta). Meanwhile, Dutt briefly associated with the IPTA for ten months in 1951. He joined the organization (central Calcutta squad, managed by Ritwik Ghatak) owing to the enthusiasm of Salil Chaudhuri and the all-India general secretary of IPTA, Niranjan Sen. The IPTA’s avowed purpose of propagating anti-fascist ideology and promoting the cause of peace and democracy around the world in the aftermath of the World War definitely interested Dutt. He acted in Shakespeare’s Macbeth (Act I) on 23 April 1951 at Srirangam, Tagore’s Visarjan (The Sacrifice), Officer (Ghatak’s translation of Gogol’s Government Inspector) Panu Pal’s Voter Bhet (Rewards in 21

Ibid., 13. For dates of productions from this early phase of Dutt’s career, see Samik Bandyopadhyay, Contemporary Indian Theatre and Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt. 23 See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 16. 24 Ibid., 21. 22

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Anticipation of Votes), and Bhanga Bandar (The Broken Dockyard) before his unceremonious exit.25 During rehearsals of the play Dalil (written and directed by Ritwik Ghatak), some workers of IPTA began to speak ill of Dutt without any provocation. These attacks would often break codes of civility. The primary charges were that Dutt was a Trotskyite as he dared to discuss the ideological contradictions between Stalin and Trotsky openly; further, he was a “careerist” who used the platform of IPTA to grind his own axe.26 The IPTA as an organization, in spite of its noble purpose, struggled to cope with vested interests of individuals dominating over those of the group. This was intensified in the early 1950s as the communist movement in India itself lacked direction and suffered under various forms of parochialism.27 Dutt was extremely popular because of his ability to educate his comrades and yet remain friendly, his thorough knowledge of the theoretical basis of communism, besides his talents as director and actor. The management of IPTA, comprising many members who could not sing or dance, act or write, found Dutt’s growing prominence difficult to digest. These leaders also lacked his intellectual grasp of communist ideology. Dutt consciously countered the doctrinaire IPTA idiom. In addition, he had read a paper concerning methods to improve the quality of IPTA productions (which was then well past its heyday, especially after the exit of influential actors like Sombhu Mitra in 1948) to its members including Niranjan Sen, Ritwik Ghatak, Salil Chaudhuri, and Samiran Datta. His ideas were not contradicted during the meeting, but it added to speculations that he was a Trotskyite. Such negative publicity ultimately degenerated into personal attack: Dutt was labelled “disobedient”, “given to drinking”, and so on.28 Dutt’s conflict with the IPTA was not the first instance of a schism between the organization and creative artists. Renowned theatre artists like Sombhu Mitra and Bijon Bhattacharya had suffered similar fates earlier. The doctrinaire adherence to party line of the founding members of the IPTA was stifling for creative minds, which proved to be one of the principal obstacles in the effective functioning of the organization.29 The work done by the IPTA is significant in the history of Indian theatre. However, some of its shortcomings were stark. The portrayals of British exploitation in Indian society in IPTA plays were too naïve and simplistic. These plays perhaps angered the masses, but they did little to substantiate their understanding of the sociopolitical or economic dynamics of British rule in India, which reduced them to abject misery and penury. Thus, the anti-imperial sentiments of the masses were never effectively crystallized into clarion calls for a socialist revolution

25

See Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 19. Sova Sen discusses the issue: Sova Sen, “Gananatya Sangha O Utpal Dutt Evam Pathanatikar Janmakatha”, Epic Theatre, August-November 1988, 19. 27 Samiran Datta—Dutt’s colleague at the IPTA—discusses Dutt’s exit. See Samiran Datta, “Utpal Dutt Kena Gananatya Sangha Chherechhilo?” Epic Theatre, April 2000, 37. 28 Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 20. 29 On this, see Rustom Bharucha, Rehearsals of Revolution: The Political Theater of Bengal (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1983), 54. 26

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in IPTA plays.30 Another important reason that hastened Dutt’s exit from the IPTA was the lack of interest invested in staging plays of quality. Most of the members of the organization were convinced that the banner of the IPTA would allure people to their productions, regardless of their quality. Such an attitude did not go down well with Dutt, who never diluted his commitment to the aesthetic merit of theatre. Dutt was soon forced to leave IPTA and return to the LTG. This association, controversial and rather short as it was, did not fail to etch an indelible impression on Dutt’s creative consciousness: I was with Gananatya [IPTA] for just ten months. However, what I managed to learn in these ten months cannot be compared to anything else in my life … Gananatya was the most important mass organization. It was the epicentre which inspired all quarters. My reading had prepared me theoretically to join any theatre group. But merely theoretical knowledge was not enough. I learned practical work at the Gananatya Sangha.31

Dutt’s association with the IPTA, albeit brief and controversial, helped him orient his primary objective in practising theatre. He was convinced that his theatre had to speak of the struggles of the common man and had to be carried to the widest possible range of audience. When he chose form and subject matter for his own plays later, he never forgot these basic principles. Before we conclude our discussion of this phase of Dutt’s life, we must note that he always remained loyal to the idea that a political theatre group must associate itself with a political party.32 His experience with the IPTA served to strengthen this conviction. It was during his days with the IPTA that Dutt realized the significance of classical plays in Bengali that the rich heritage of Bengali theatre is an invaluable resource for theatre workers. He learnt that the masses have an affinity for classical plays (and forms), which may be explored to effectively communicate with a large section of the masses. However, classical plays must be chosen adroitly so that they represent the struggles of the people which are relevant across boundaries of time and space. Mere historicity of a play does not qualify it as a classic in the context of the people’s theatre movement.33 Dutt’s work in street theatre began during his days with the IPTA. He continued to work with various plays in this form throughout his career. For the sake of convenience, we will discuss some of these plays in one place. The irony of having to work within the constricted space of an auditorium, catering to a handful of educated and paying viewers, in spite of his ideological conviction that theatre was a powerful weapon to propagate ideas of revolution, stared Dutt in his face even during his association with college drama. As suggested earlier, this was also the primary reason that veered the LTG towards performing entirely in Bengali. His stint with the IPTA served to strengthen his belief that a politically committed dramatist could never be successful unless he took his art to the masses. The form of street theatre allowed 30

Dutt presents his assessment of IPTA productions: Utpal Dutt, “Theatre As Weapon of Revolution”, in Utpal Dutt – Ek Samagrik Abalokan (Kolkata: Utpal Dutt Natyotsav 2005 Committee), 2005, 113. 31 Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 18 and Dutt, “Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre”, 49. 32 Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 43. 33 On this, see Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, (Kolkata: Papyrus, 1996), 39.

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him to achieve this aim. Street plays are traditional forms of entertainment based on issues of topical interest. As the name suggests, such plays are performed on street corners without any of the paraphernalia of proscenium theatre. The actors associate closely with the spectators, often including them in the performance. The spectators comprise random passers-by or people who happen to be present at the spot at that point in time. Dutt participated in street theatre that was avowedly political in content. He claimed that he was able to hint at a “superior political ideology” in his street plays.34 However, as we shall see later in this discussion, most of his work in this form was limited to serving electoral interests of the communists. In order to organize and arouse the interests of a motley crowd, the dramatist needs to adopt certain techniques in street plays. Humour is probably the most effective weapon in this regard. Dutt’s street theatre never lacked this essential ingredient. These plays were not deficient in political consciousness either. Dutt would grab the attention of the spectators by first making them laugh; he would then gradually win them over to his side and ensure a collective, accumulated hatred of his political targets. The adversary was portrayed not as an awe-inspiring, powerful figure (which the bourgeoisie is, in the eyes of the working class) but a clownish, ridiculous figure fit to be laughed at. This served to instil a sense of assurance in the proletariat that the bourgeois was not to be feared; rather, his idiosyncrasies exposed the fragile nature of his assumed infallibility. This belief lent courage to the exploited class and inspired them to rebel against their exploiters. The primary purpose of street theatre is to effectively structure the urge to dissent among spectators into a conscious act of protest. For street theatre to have substantial impact, the spectators, actors, and dramatist must share a common political vision. Street plays must attempt to transform the common man’s haphazard anger and discontent into a narrative that foments protest against the exploiters. The general structure (and objective) of a street play does not allow room for exploration of complex political arguments or neutral assessment of ideas. Rather, the dramatist needs to be partisan and effectively reiterate facts that justify the discontent of the spectators. As the spectators are primarily random passers-by, a street play must improvise its content in line with their particular struggles and causes for dissatisfaction with the political adversary. Thus, the written play-text is hardly more than a skeletal story which is suitably embellished depending upon pertinent local issues during a performance. The director must acquire knowledge about political issues and demands relevant to a particular locality and incorporate them into the play before each performance. The actors must be able to effectively represent these issues without any rehearsal. They must also be able to assess the nature of spectators gathered for a performance and adapt the written manuscript to suit their immediate need. Thus, owing to its unique nature, a street play presents practitioners with stern challenges. Dutt inaugurated his career in street theatre in 1951 with Passport, which dealt with the emotional trauma of the people of Bengal, associated with the Partition in 1947. He participated in the agitation to free political prisoners, when he acted 34

Dutt discusses street plays elaborately. See Utpal Dutt, “Pathanatika”, in Utpal Dutt – Ek Samagrik Abalokan, 107.

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alongside Ritwik Ghatak and Panu Pal in Umanath Bhattacharya’s Chargesheet.35 He recalls that this production proved to be a very successful one with innumerable performances across the length and breadth of the state. Another noteworthy streetcorner play, Panu Pal’s Voter Bhet (Rewards in Anticipation of Votes), followed in 1952. This was produced with the sole objective of propagandizing in favour of the communists in the general elections held in the same year. Dutt acted in it alongside Panu Pal, Ritwik Ghatak, and Santanu Ghosh. Voter Bhet was used to support the Communist Party candidate against his fancied opponent from the Congress in the Mahestala by-election in 1953. The victory of the CPI candidate was aided largely by the impact that this play had on the poor workers who formed a majority of the electorate at Mahestala. The partisan nature of Dutt’s street theatre was further exhibited in a 1961 production called Special Train. Close to 6000 workers of the Hind Motor factory at Uttarpara, Hugli, had gone on strike demanding better working conditions. The Birlas, who owned the factory, tried to neutralize the strikers in various ways, but failed. They sought the active help of the state administration to mobilize ruffians and goons into Uttarpara on a special train in order to force the workers to surrender. A series of brutalities followed to frighten the strikers into submission. Dutt wrote Special Train against this backdrop. It was also used as political propaganda for the Communist Party in the 1962 general elections. In Samajtantrik Chal (Socialist Rice), first performed in August 1965, Dutt claimed that the state was headed towards a shortage of food grain, owing to the unholy nexus of the ruling class and the businessmen. In an effort to raise the price of food grains, an artificial shortage was created through illegal hoarding. Dutt’s direct conflict with the Congress leadership caused the play to be banned in September 1965. The political horizon of the state darkened later with the growing strength of the Naxalite movement. The split in the Communist Party in 1964 had complicated events. Under these circumstances, State Assembly elections were declared in 1967. Dutt wrote Din Badaler Pala (A Play for Change) to aid the election campaign of the communists. It would run for three hours, assimilating various events from contemporary politics in order to unmask the corrupt Congress leadership. It proved to be decisive in its impact on the consciousness of the electorate: the first United Front government came to power, ousting the incumbent Congress party. As these examples amply prove, Dutt’s prominent essays in street theatre surrounded electoral campaigns of the communists. He was able to capitalize on burning political issues of the time and lend creative expression to the political discontents of the masses. His plays perhaps angered the masses. However, they did not provide the spectators with “superior political ideology”, as he claimed for his street theatre (referred to earlier). Dutt continued to involve himself in street theatre throughout his career. Lauhamanab (The Man of Iron, 1965), Din Badaler Dvitiya Pala (A Second Play for Change, April 1976), Kalo Hat (The Evil Hand, 25 November 1979), Maloparar Ma (The Mother from Malopara, 13 October 1983), Kacher Ghar (The Glass House, 1985), among other plays, claim places of prominence in the history of Bengali street

35

Dutt reminisces some of these productions in “Little Theatre O Ami”, 19 onwards.

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theatre.36 It is apt to note here that Dutt’s foray into Jatra or folk theatre was also inspired by the opportunity that it offered to him of reaching out to a large number of common people at once. His Jatra career has been discussed later in this chapter. Let us now return to our discussion of the progress of Dutt’s career under the banner of the Little Theatre Group. Following the performance of Ghosts in Siuli Majumdar’s translation, the LTG chose Ibsen for their next production as well. A Doll’s House opened at Srirangam on 14 September 1951. The LTG had produced Shakespeare’s Othello in English in 1952. During rehearsals, Premasish Sen, a member of the group, introduced two young men to Dutt to fill in the roles of the citizens of Cyprus. These two men were none other than Satya Bandyopadhyay and Rabi Ghosh, two of the stalwarts who would go on to make LTG a household name.37 Dutt’s early introduction to actors like Bandyopadhyay and Ghosh proved to be a beneficial engagement for both sides. It allowed the director to gradually come to terms with the acting style of his principal actors, which, in turn, enabled him to effectively design characters for them. One may especially consider actors like Satya Bandyopadhyay or Sova Sen (discussed later) in this context, who devoted almost their entire acting career to theatre groups run by Dutt. As far as the actors are concerned, the association provided them with the opportunity to optimally utilize and considerably develop their skills as actors under the expert tutelage of a director of Dutt’s calibre.38 After two successful performances of Ibsen’s plays, the LTG turned to Konstantin Simonov’s political play set in the aftermath of the Second World War, The Russian Question (6 December 1952). It was translated into Bengali by Saroj Datta. A Doll’s House (in Debiprasad Chattopadhyay’s translation Putuler Sansar) opened at St. Thomas’ Hall on 7 March 1953. They moved on to Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice in Sunil Chattopadhyay’s translation, which premiered on 23 April 1953 at the University Institute Hall, Calcutta. Tagore’s Achalayatan (The Static House) appeared soon after in July 1953. Sova Sen’s first assignment with the LTG was the role of Lady Macbeth in Jyotindranath Sengupta’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s play, which the LTG performed in 1954.39 She was already an acclaimed stage actress, known especially for her performance in IPTA’s Navanna. She soon became an important member of the group,

36

The references for dates of first performances of Dutt’s original plays have been provided in an appendix to this book. 37 See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 21. 38 Both Rabi Ghosh and Satya Bandyopadhyay have acknowledged their indebtedness to Dutt. See Rabi Ghosh, “Sei Sab Dingulo”, in Prasanta Dan, Jayanta Ray, eds., Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan (Kolkata: Mahua Publishing Company, 1978), 46 and Satya Bandyopadhyay, “Janaika Kata Sainiker Jabanbandi”, in Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, 24. 39 Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 37. However, Sushil Kumar Mukherjee claims: “Little Theatre started with Saroj Dutt’s translation of The Russians (K. Simonov) on 6 December, 1953 at the ITF Pavillion, Calcutta Maidan, with Utpal Dutt and Sova Sen in lead roles”. (Sushil Kumar Mukherjee, 370). We consider Sen’s own account as authentic.

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completing the core team, and was chosen for key roles in all subsequent productions. Her personal life at this time was disturbed: she suffered from a troubled marriage to Debiprasad Sen. Dutt was a close witness to her trauma during his stay as a paying guest with the Sens. He would provide her with solace and encourage her to stand up for her own pride and dignity. Sova Sen eventually divorced Debiprasad Sen. She married her comrade Utpal Dutt on 29 March 1961 and became his professional companion and a pillar of support throughout his life.40 The two artists had been introduced to very different kinds of theatre at the beginning of their respective careers. Sen was well acquainted with the professional north Calcutta theatre and an established actress with the IPTA before she met Dutt. In contrast, Dutt owed his initial training to Shakespeare productions and the British Company style under Kendal. This dissimilarity prompted contrasting acting styles in the two actors. Sen had mastered a non-emotive, underplayed style of acting without any overt posturing or gesticulation, which Dutt held in high regard.41 She set high standards while acting and almost unintentionally challenged her co-actors to match up to her. Ironically, it seemed like she did not allow room to anybody else and the others were compelled to compete with her. In contrast, Dutt was a more generous actor. Being the director himself in most cases, he ensured that his co-actors had the opportunity to develop as artists. While acting together in this early phase, they shared an agonistic space rather than a complementary one. They influenced each other’s acting style and helped each other become more rounded, versatile actors. Sen’s influence on Dutt’s personal life was immense. She shared his ideology, and their political conviction was an example for the other members of their group. Dutt’s career as a dramatist owes itself largely to her. She motivated him to start writing original plays in Bengali.42 This was an act of remarkable foresight as Dutt’s Bengali, especially in his early life, was not as good as his English. He eventually composed a large corpus of Bengali plays designed for various genres, including proscenium, Jatra, and street theatre. Another of Sen’s significant contributions lay in her role in the management of the LTG (and later, the People’s Little Theatre). With the help of senior members like Satya Bandyopadhyay and Tapas Sen, she ensured smooth administration of the group. This allowed Dutt to concentrate entirely on creative pursuits. As a progressive Marxist, he believed in the economic agency and autonomy of women. He allowed her the freedom to run the group independently, and she proved herself worthy of the responsibility placed on her shoulders. Dutt has acknowledged that the person who inspired him most in his personal life was his wife Sova Sen. The LTG played Tagore’s Kaler Yatra (The Progress of Time) in May 1955 as part of the Youth Festival held at the Ranji Stadium. Bicharer Bani, a Bengali adaptation of John Galsworthy’s Justice, was followed in August 1955. Michael 40

Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 49. Bishnupriya Dutt, in an interview with me, shed some light on their professional relationship. Refer Bishnupriya Dutt, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta, Kolkata, 18 September 2016. 42 Dutt held Sen’s influence on his life and career in high esteem. See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 26 and Prashanta Dan, “Utpal Dutt Ubacha”, in Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, 13. 41

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Madhusudan Dutt’s famous satire Bura Saliker Ghade Ron appeared in March 1956. The LTG played Balaichand Mukhopadhyay’s (alias Banaphul) Nava Sanskaran (New Edition) in March 1956. Performances of two plays by Tagore, Guruvakya (The Words of the Guru) and Sukshma Bichar (Sophisticated Judgement) were followed in quick succession in March 1956. The LTG performed selected scenes from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (30 April 1956 at South Point School, Calcutta) in Pasupati Bhattacharya’s Bengali translation. May Divas (May Day)—a dramatic rendition of selected episodes from Gorky’s famous novel Mother—followed in December 1956. Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar was performed in February 1957. Girish Chandra Ghosh’s historical play based on the life of the last independent ruler of Bengal, Sirajuddaula, was performed on 4 April 1957. Tagore’s Tapati was performed on 13 May 1957, while Nicher Mahal—Umanath Bhattacharya’s translation of Gorky’s Lower Depths—was performed on 17 July 1957 at Rangmahal, Calcutta. The year 1958 marked the end of the life of the LTG as a roving theatre group. It would base itself at the Minerva Theatre for the next decade or so. Before moving on to Minerva Theatre, they performed Othello in Bengali, which premiered on 8 December 1958 at Biswarupa, Calcutta (Image 1.1). Dutt’s own play Chhayanat was performed for the first time at Biswarupa on 10 December 1958. This event marked Dutt’s debut as a dramatist for the professional stage. Chhayanat, written in a comic vein, satirizes the superficiality and hypocrisy prevalent in the world of cinema. The LTG (rather, Dutt himself) leased Minerva Theatre in June 1959. The owner Kasturchand Jain had refused to lease his hall out to any group. Thus, Dutt was forced to become the sole proprietor. This was not an ideal arrangement as he would be held solely responsible in the eyes of law in case any loss was incurred. As far as the commercial survival of LTG was concerned, the decision to move to Minerva Theatre was a desperate one. Sova Sen even had to mortgage the deed of her house, without the knowledge of her husband, in order to facilitate the deal.43 LTG opened its account in a professional playhouse with Dutt’s Chhayanat (27 June 1959) and Othello (2 July 1959).44 However, their venture into the world of professional theatre, with customary shows on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, did not meet with immediate success. The early productions, including Chhayanat, Othello, Bura Salik, and Nicher Mahal (12 September 1959), could not be sustained for long. Around this time, a horrible accident occurred in the Baradhemo coal mine near Asansol. Due to the caving-in of coal mounds inside the mine, miners got trapped for days. The owner—more concerned about the safety of the mine than the lives of the miners—allegedly filled up the mine with water, abandoning the trapped miners to death. This incident provided Dutt with the motivation to write Angar (Coal, 31 December 1959). Added to its definite topical appeal, the production had the 43

Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 43. Sushil Kumar Mukherjee, 331. In Arup Kumar Mukhopadhyay’s opinion, the inaugural performance was that of Bura Saliker Ghade Ron on 3 July 1959 (Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt, 89). As stated in the following line, shows were generally scheduled on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Therefore, Sushil Kumar Mukherjee’s dates seem to be authentic: 27 June 1959 was a Saturday, while 3 July 1959 was a Friday. 44

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Image 1.1 LTG’s Othello (1958): Utpal Dutt (left) and Sekhar Chattopadhyay on stage. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

young maestro Ravi Shankar as the music director. Tapas Sen’s lighting design and Nirmal Guharay’s novel décor combined to create a theatrical spectacle that was difficult to resist. Angar ran to packed houses for more than 1100 shows.45 Dutt’s unequivocal criticism of the unholy nexus between the Congress government and the capitalist class in several of his plays drew flak from his political adversaries on numerous occasions. Angar had to bear the brunt of political hooliganism.46 The agitational street-corner play Special Train, performed before the general elections in 1962, antagonized the Congress leadership even further. Following Angar, the LTG performed Pherari Phauj (The Elusive Rebels, 28 May 1961 at Minerva Theatre). It won Dutt a Sangeet Natak Akademi award as best playwright in 1963. Pherari Phauj praises guerilla freedom fighters as heroes and propagates their method of armed insurrection against the British as the only viable means to achieve independence. The satire VIP premiered at Minerva Theatre on 14 April 1962. This comic play exposes the superficial nature of so-called aristocrats and celebrities in our society. Dutt adapted Advaita Mallabarman’s novel Titas Ekti Nadir Nam (There is a River Called Titas) into a play which premiered at Minerva Theatre on 10 March 1963. It is a deeply compassionate portrayal of the lifestyle of the marginalized “malo” 45 46

Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 29. Dutt has vividly described one such attack on Anga¯r. See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 30.

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community which lives along the banks of the river Titas. Megh (The Cloud), written by Dutt in November 1963, was never performed in his lifetime. It is a complex psychological exploration of the relationship between a man and his wife trapped in an unhappy marriage. The historical backdrop for the play Kallol (The Sound of Waves, 1965) was the Naval Mutiny in Bombay in 1946. Here Dutt explored the alleged unceremonious role played by the Congress leadership in suppressing the mutiny against the British government and emphasized the patriotic role of the Communist Party. Given its controversial subject matter, it was understandably difficult for Dutt to find reliable evidence on which he could base his play. So, he managed access to suppressed documents.47 The memory of finding the stage transformed into a warship remains vivid in the minds of most Bengali theatregoers. The technique employed has been analysed in the fourth chapter. Kallol drew unprecedented attention, both positive and negative. Dutt was charged with altering historical facts—in reality, the ship Khyber had surrendered, but the play ended differently.48 All newspapers, with the exception of The Statesman, stopped publishing advertisements promoting Kallol. However, this did not stop people from flocking to the playhouse to watch Kallol: handwritten posters and pamphlets, containing Tapas Sen’s famous one-liner “Kallol chalchhe, chalbe” (Kallol is running and will keep running), were enough to draw crowds to Minerva Theatre. Following quick on the heels of this production, Dutt wrote a controversial essay titled “Sangramer Arekdik” (The Other Side of Revolution) in the special autumn issue of the magazine Deshitaishi. The essay was soon labelled seditious. The said issue of the magazine was confiscated, and Dutt was arrested on 23 September 1965 on charges of sedition. Disregarding growing protests among the intelligentsia as well as the masses, he was held behind bars for seven months. But his arrest could not prevent the LTG from performing Kallol with aplomb for over 800 shows.49 Dutt translated Friedrich Wolf’s anti-Nazi play Professor Mamlock into Bengali. Set in Germany in 1933, it sensitized the audience about the all-encompassing evil that was caused by the rise of a fascist force. Professor Mamlock opened at Minerva Theatre on 18 April 1965.50 Ajeya Vietnam (Invincible Vietnam), which premiered at Minerva Theatre on 31 August 1966, portrays the Vietnamese people as fearless patriots who put up a heroic resistance against the might of the American army. The year 1967 marked the beginning of a period of bitter political unrest in the history of West Bengal. An armed peasant uprising against the exploitation of a local landlord at Naxalbari in North Bengal provided the spark which soon spread like wildfire across the length and breadth of the state. Dutt was at this time attracted to the ultra-left ideology of the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist), or Naxalite party. He felt the need to speak up against the police opening fire at villagers in Prasadujot to curb their dissent, in spite of the fact that, by then, the reins of power in 47

See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 34. This issue has been discussed in the third chapter. 49 See Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 36. 50 Samik Bandyopadhyay, Contemporary Indian Theatre, 21. Arup Mukhopadhyay opines that it opened on 5 November 1964 at Minerva Theatre. (Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt, 299). 48

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the state had shifted from the Congress to the United Front. He went to Naxalbari and Prasadujot (in the company of Tapas Sen and Nirmal Guharay—prominent members of the LTG) with the intention of gathering material for a play on this subject and spoke to leaders of the uprising like Charu Majumdar, Saurin Basu, and Tilak Ray. The members of the LTG heard first-hand reports of alleged incidents of police brutality during their interaction with villagers. Dutt was convinced that an account of the courage of the peasants in their unequal strife against agents of the state administration would be invaluable in inspiring the masses to rebel against their exploiters. He regretted his sympathies for the Naxalite movement later, but he held firm to his position as far as the justification of a play on the subject is concerned.51 With time, Dutt grew closer to the destructive anti-establishment political line of the Naxalites. This paved the way for the state to forcefully curb his activities, culminating in his arrest in December 1967. Tir (The Arrow) premiered at Minerva on 16 December 1967. Dutt was arrested eight days later in Bombay as a propagator of destructive ultra-revolutionary political ideas. A great deal of controversy and mystery surrounds his arrest and subsequent release a few days later. He was in Bombay at this time to act in the Merchant and Ivory film The Guru. It is said that the company interceded on behalf of Dutt to get him released, as it would have to incur a heavy financial loss in case the shooting had to be stalled owing to the arrest of the primary actor. The company pleaded with the government that there was little chance of him indulging in armed insurrection, while the film was being shot.52 Dutt had to agree to the condition that during the shooting of the film he would not come to Calcutta or participate in active politics. This particular ‘declaration’ on his part was seen by his denigrators as a glaring compromise. We must remember that Dutt was struggling at this time to ensure commercial viability for his theatre group. He was compelled to work in films—both in the Bombay film industry and in Calcutta—to aid his fledgling endeavours, especially in the early years of his theatre career. Given the circumstances that he had to survive, Dutt could hardly afford to reject the intercession of Merchant and Ivory on his behalf. Not only would such a rejection damage his reputation as a professional artist but also incur the loss of a large amount of money (that he could ill afford) owing to breach of contract with the American company. Even if we consider his ‘declaration’ to be a compromise in his revolutionary ideal, it was the only practical solution in the circumstances that could lead him out of the quagmire. Dutt’s subsequent work proves that his ‘declaration’ did not amount to any kind of compromise as far as his practice of political theatre is concerned. He continued to preach his political convictions in theatre with aplomb. The dramatist, marred in controversy, was released from jail on 3 January 1968.53 Many of Dutt’s well-wishers, including members of the LTG, went against him as a result of his ‘declaration’. While Dutt was away on his film assignment with Merchant and Ivory Productions, Sova Sen was suspended from 51

On this, see Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 38. For Dutt’s opinion on this episode, see Utpal Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre (Calcutta: M. C. Sarkar and Sons, 1982), 82. 53 For Sova Sen’s views on this event, see Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 89. 52

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the group. There was a definite rift within the group as a result of this controversy. Satya Bandyopadhyay alleged that Sen cared only for the female members of the group. There were various allegations against Dutt too. For instance, the fact that he did not act in Tir was not appreciated by some of the group members. In May 1968, on Dutt’s return to Calcutta after the completion of his work with Merchant and Ivory Productions, the group lifted the suspension and requested him to join them immediately. The change in the mindset of those members of the LTG who had gone against Dutt was caused by their realizing that Dutt was irreplaceable, and the group could not do without him. As indicated earlier, he suffered political boycott from both the left and the right. Manusher Adhikare (The Rights of Man, 14 July 1968 at Minerva Theatre), which followed Tir, was pivotal in re-establishing Dutt’s popularity and credibility as a director of political theatre. It has been discussed in the fourth chapter. Here, we might add that he held Manusher Adhikare in high regard and called it his favourite directorial venture.54 Yuddhang Dehi (Let the War Begin!) premiered at Minerva Theatre on 24 November 1968. Here, Dutt drew an analogy to the political climate of India following the Sino-Indian War of 1962. He exposed the manner in which the spirit of nationalism was misused by the ruling class to perpetuate the exploitation of the working class. Rater Atithi (Guests for the Night) premiered at Muktangan on 6 June 1969. Here, Dutt laid bare the corrupt nature of so-called celebrities who are generally idolized in our society. Before we move on to discuss the next important phase of Dutt’s life—the birth of the People’s Little Theatre—it is necessary to look at possible reasons for the collapse of the LTG. The ultra-left political deviation within certain sections of the Communist Party adversely affected the LTG, too. Certain members, influenced by Naxalite ideology, would attend meetings of the group with the sole intention of disrupting all proceedings, thus making it impossible for the group to function. Perhaps, Dutt’s own (albeit, transient) affinity for Naxalite politics did not help matters.55 Further, the financial condition of the group was far from ideal. The performance of Leniner Dak (The Call of Lenin) on 22 April 1970 was the final essay of the LTG. The contribution made by this group to Bengali theatre over twenty years cannot be denied. In plays like Angar, it placed the working class as a cluster at the centre of attention on stage, arguably more than any other group, including IPTA. It played an unprecedented role in introducing modern stagecraft to Bengali theatre: the mine pit in Angar and the warship in Kallol represented signal advancements in this regard. The scientific methods of rehearsal followed by Dutt, building on his experience with Shakespeareana, ensured that the group could carve its own niche. Finally, the LTG flourished on teamwork. The popular idea that theatre consists primarily of good actors and a few other obscure backstage hands was dismissed by the group. It practised theatre as a composite art form where acting was just as important as sets, music, stagecraft, lighting, costume, and all other units that contribute to the making of a good play.

54 55

Dutt, “Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre”, 112. Dutt discusses the collapse of the LTG in his “Little Theatre O Ami”, 41.

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After the LTG, Dutt ran a Jatra troupe called Vivek Natya Samaj for a brief period of about a year. Jatra, the age-old professional rural theatre of Bengal, played an important role in his development as an artist. His engagement with the Jatra goes back to the year 1968 when he wrote Rifle for the Jatra troupe New Arya Opera. He approached this form with a great deal of enthusiasm as it seemed to be the most appropriate medium for taking his theatre to the working class and peasants. As noted previously, his association with the IPTA had taught him that a politically committed dramatist could not afford to limit his work by catering only to an elite, urban audience. The inherent nature of the folk form gave him an opportunity to translate his ideological convictions into practice. Dutt used the popular folk medium to profess his political ideologies. In his Jatra plays, he studied the history of armed resistance in colonial India in the context of his Marxist reading of class. During a Jatra performance, the distance between the acting space and the viewing space is more or less obliterated, thus allowing a closer interaction with the audience. The greatest patrons of the Jatra are mainly illiterate villagers. Hence, there is hardly any room to play something that is too subtle, or elevated beyond the grasp of the audience. A Jatra play must be popular in order to survive. All experiments in content or dramaturgy are governed by this principal consideration. Dutt, who was looking to perfect his craft as a political dramatist, could not have hoped for better training.56 The impact of his association with the Jatra continued to be felt on his work designed for the proscenium stage. His attitude as the director underwent a transformation as he realized that, ideally, a dramatist needs to strive for theatre that is at once popular and elevated. Jatra was usually played before hundreds, if not thousands, of people over a long stretch during the late evening. So, the actors require a different set of skills as far as their voice modulations and body movements are concerned. Once Dutt returned to the proscenium theatre with the creation of PLT, he began to inculcate Jatra techniques into his plays. The impact of his association with the Jatra has been discussed in the following chapter. The ambience in a Jatra performance is far from the sombre, serious atmosphere in auditoriums that modern urban theatregoers are used to. The peasants and workers who flock to the Jatra look for some entertainment at the end of a hard day’s labour. They often voice their appreciation or condemnation of the actors, or discuss something with their peers loudly enough to be heard on stage, while simultaneously watching the performance. Members of the audience might even walk out for a smoke and troop back in according to their will. Jatra actors must train themselves to be able to deal with such distractions. These factors must also be borne in mind while writing a play for the Jatra. The inherent nature of Jatra makes it imperative for the dramatist to construct his narrative as an accumulation of various episodes, rather than a single, concentrated plot line with the same intensity throughout. The audience is not expected to pay undivided attention to the play for the entire period of five or six hours. The dramatist constructs certain action-packed, thrilling or melodramatic episodes to grab the attention of the audience. This is usually followed by an episode which is relatively less important, where the audience 56

Dutt explained his relation to Jatra in an interview: Refer Samik Bandyopadhyay, “Utpal Dutt Interviewed”, Enact 68–69, August–September 1972, n.p.

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can afford to relax. This pattern is repeated throughout the play. We may identify a similarity between Jatra and Shakespearean tragedies, designed to be performed in Elizabethan playhouses, where the ambience was not very different from that described above. Dutt’s later plays showed an influence of Jatra in terms of form. Besides Rifle, many of Dutt’s better-known plays were originally Jatra productions. These include Jalianwalabagh (for Satyambar Opera, 1969), Son Re Malik (Hear, O Owner, Vivek Natya Samaj, 1970), Nilrakta (Blueblood, Bharati Opera, 1970), and Samudrasashan (The Reign of Samudra, Lok Natya, 1970). Some of these plays will be discussed in the following chapters. After the dissolution of the LTG, Dutt formed his Jatra troupe Vivek Natya Samaj. Along with this Jatra group, he also formed the People’s Little Theatre (PLT) as a successor to the LTG. Vivek Natya Samaj and the PLT were registered almost at the same time in 1970.57 However, Dutt, put off by the unceremonious dissolution of the LTG, had decided that he would prefer the Jatra form over proscenium plays. In spite of his earnest efforts, the Vivek Natya Samaj could not flourish as a Jatra group. Dutt realized very soon that most of the actors who stayed back with him after the dissolution of the LTG did not have the requisite skills to succeed as Jatra actors.58 He was forced to concentrate his energies on proscenium theatre with the PLT.59 The PLT began its journey with a proscenium version of Dutt’s Jatra script Samudrasashan on 28 March 1971. Set in Ayodhya, it dramatizes the conflict between the Hindu emperor Samudragupta (330–375 AD) and the learned Buddhist monk Kalhan. The remarkable plays of this phase will be analysed later. It has already been mentioned that Dutt’s credentials as a politically committed dramatist suffered after Tir. Subsequently, Manusher Adhikare was able to salvage the situation to an extent. With Tiner Taloyar (The Tin Sword, 12 August 1971), Dutt re-established himself as one of the foremost dramatist-director-actors in the country. He identified the contrary historical forces of an entire age in Tiner Taloyar. In his central character Benimadhab, he represented the classic conundrum for an artist torn between allegiance to ideological convictions and the demands of popularity. Tiner Taloyar enjoyed critical acclaim as well as commercial success. Thikana (Address), written with the backdrop of the Bangladesh War of Independence in 1971, opened at The Academy of Fine Arts on 2 August 1971. The Jatra script Joy Bangla (Victory to the Bengalis) was also based on the Bangladesh War of Independence. It opened on 14 September 1971 at Rabindra Sadan, performed by Loknatya. Barricade (which premiered on 25 December 1972 at Kala Mandir, Calcutta), adapted from Jan Petersen’s German play Unsere Strasse, dramatized the rise of the Nazis to power and prominence. The political opposition between the Nazis and the communists in Barricade was analogous to the unprecedented mud-slinging between the Congress and the communists in pre-Emergency Calcutta. Tota (Bullet) based on the First War of Independence of 1857 opened at the All India Fine Arts and Crafts Society in New Delhi 57

Samik Bandyopadhyay, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta, Kolkata, 10 September 2018. Ibid. 59 Sushil Kumar Mukherjee presents the “aims and objectives” of the PLT. See Sushil Kumar Mukherjee, 371. 58

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on 10 February 1973. Dutt edited Tota to write Mahavidroha (The Great Rebellion) in 1985. Krusvidhha Cuba (Crucified Cuba) premiered at Rabindra Sadan on 10 December 1973. It was based on the historical revolution (1953–1959) led by Fidel Castro against the Cuban president Batista, which ultimately led to the latter’s ouster from office on 1 January 1959. Dusvapner Nagari (The Nightmare City) was performed at Kala Mandir, Calcutta, on 16 May 1974. It reflected the unprecedented political turmoil in Calcutta in the wake of the National Emergency. PLT faced the most brutal incidence of political intervention on 26 August 1974 when, at a scheduled show of Dusvapner Nagari at Star Theatre, its members, including the dramatist, were assaulted by political adversaries.60 The play could not be staged on that day because of this planned attack. Such an assault on the freedom of art was universally condemned. Cultural icons of the state including Mrinal Sen, Tarun Majumdar, and Soumitra Chatterjee met at a protest meeting to raise their voice against this assault on the arts. A representative delegation of prominent theatre practitioners met the Chief Minister, Siddhartha Sankar Ray, but to little avail. Dutt was charged for sedition under Article 124(A) of the Indian Penal Code. Though he was not arrested, Dusvapner Nagari was practically banned. Surreptitious performances of Dusvapner Nagari continued, thinly guised under the cover of alternate titles. Lohar Bhim (The Iron Bhima) was published in May 1974. It was performed only in September 2005 at Sisir Mancha, Kolkata, by the troupe Theatre Workshop, directed by Asok Mukhopadhyay. It explored the tragic lives of so-called “stunt men” in the Bombay film industry. These relatively unknown actors would perform all the difficult tricks and stunts before the camera, while the hero would enjoy fame and publicity. Lenin Kothay? (Where is Lenin?), which premiered at Minerva Theatre on 26 February 1976, dramatized the trials and tribulations in the life of the legendary Bolshevik leader V. I. Lenin. Ebar Rajar Pala (The King’s Turn Now) premiered at Kala Mandir on 6 January 1977, where Dutt analysed the making of a dictator. It completed Dutt’s Emergency Trilogy (after Barricade and Dusvapner Nagari). In Titumir (26 January 1978, Rabindra Sadan), Dutt portrayed various events in the life of the freedom fighter Mir Nisar Ali, famously known as Titumir (1782–1831). Chakranta (The Coup) opened at the Academy of Fine Arts on 15 June 1979. In the wake of the centenary of Stalin’s birth in 1979, Dutt wrote a play celebrating his role in the successful establishment of the world’s first communist state in the USSR. Stalin: 1934 premiered on 17 November 1979 at the Academy of Fine Arts. Dutt adapted Dario Fo’s Accidental Death of an Anarchist to write Bangla Charo (Leave Bengal). It premiered at the Academy of Fine Arts on 4 October 1980.61 The final phase of Dutt’s creative career included biographical plays like Danrao Pathikbar (Stand Still, O Passer-by, 4 December 1980, University Institute Hall) and Agnisajya (Bed of Fire, 27 December 1988, University Institute Hall), based, respectively, on the lives of Michael Madhusudan Dutt and Raja Rammohun Roy. Ajker Shahjahan (Today’s Shahjahan, 21 April 1984, University Institute Hall), too, deserves

60 61

This incident has been discussed in the fourth chapter. Arup Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutt, 311.

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special mention. In its protagonist, Kunjabihari, Dutt presented the inevitable alienation of man in a capitalist society. Kusputtalika (The Effigy), published in August 1984, was never performed in Dutt’s lifetime.62 It critiqued the ideology and lifestyle of a business tycoon, who stood as a prototype for capitalists. Baniker Mandanda (The Scale of the Businessman) was published in 1988. It was never performed in Dutt’s lifetime. The PLT performed Baniker Mandanda to commemorate Dutt’s birth anniversary on 29 March 1995. Here, Dutt dramatized the initial forays of the East India Company into Bengal. Dainik Bajar Patrika (The Daily Bazar Newspaper, 11 February 1989, Academy of Fine Arts) was an attack on partisan journalism, driven by vested interests for profit rather than an honest quest for truth. Nil Sada Lal (Blue White Red, 13 April 1989, Rabindra Sadan), Ekla Chalo Re (Walk Alone, 25 December 1989, Rabindra Sadan), Kiratparva (The Episode of Kirata, published in July 1990, performed on 19 August 2008 at Rabindra Sadan), Lal Durga (The Red Fort, 25 December 1990, Rabindra Sadan), and Janatar Aphim (The Opium of the People, 16 December 1991, Academy of Fine Arts) conclude his career. In Nil Sada Lal, Dutt commemorates the bicentennial of the French Revolution. It studies the socioeconomic and cultural history of France which led to the French Revolution in 1789. Ekla Chalo Re presents the final six months in the life of Mahatma Gandhi between the attainment of Independence on 15 August 1947 and his assassination on 30 January 1948. In Kiratparva, Dutt explores the oppression of the so-called lower classes—Kirata, Nishada, and Rakshasa clans—by the Kshatriya ruling class. Lal Durga analyses the ideological crises facing Marxist political thought after the collapse of the USSR. Janatar Aphim is a prophetic warning about the ill effects of overenthusiastic religious zeal and fervour. Dutt’s worst fears reflected in Janatar Aphim turned into reality a year later when the Babri Masjid at Ayodhya was demolished on 6 December 1992, calling into question our centuries-old tradition of religious tolerance. Dutt’s final appearance on stage was on 2 August 1993 in Ekla Chalo Re, about two weeks prior to his demise on 19 August 1993. Throughout his life, and even up till now, Dutt’s creative achievement never received comprehensive and dispassionate appraisal. Unfortunately, his dramatic oeuvre has hardly received critical attention in English—hence, international—scholarship. There has hardly been any attempt to preserve Dutt’s work for future generations of theatre enthusiasts. Dutt had proposed a television series called “In Search of Theatre” where the history of the theatre movement in India would be televised in fifty-two episodes. The series was to be aired on Doordarshan—the country’s national television channel. However, the authorities administering Doordarshan did not agree to the proposal. They asked Dutt to accommodate his work in five episodes only. Later, the proposal came down to three episodes. Ultimately, four episodes, titled “A Russian in Calcutta”, “Towards a National Theatre”, “Larger than Life”, and “Violence in the Arts”, respectively, were slated to be telecast. After the telecast began, Dutt was abruptly informed that the fourth part was inappropriate for national

62

Ibid., 313.

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television. The project, which could have been an invaluable source to theatre enthusiasts and researchers, was thus haphazardly terminated.63 This incident is not meant to suggest that Dutt was particularly ignored by the government. In our country, artists generally suffer because of an appalling lack of consciousness as far as preservation of artistic heritage is concerned. Dutt remains obscure in intellectual circles around the world, or even across the country. One may argue that his political ideology, which was always passionately anti-establishment, contributed to the critical neglect, and even opprobrium, that he had to suffer. Unlike Badal Sircar’s plays, there are not enough translations of Dutt’s works. His personality has overtaken his art almost always, resulting in either unquestioning reverence in the minds of his supporters or unqualified hatred on the part of his enemies. Dutt’s reputation has also suffered as a result of a general lack of rigorous critical discipline in India. It is not easy to find critics who analyse Bengali drama after diligently reading plays. Rather, the worth of a dramatist is often determined in terms of inaccurate memories of stage productions, in the context of certain naïve, stock ideas. The inability of the critic is thinly veiled behind celebration or disdainful dismissal of the dramatist’s works—rarely do we come across objective criticism.64 Another possible reason for the inadequate critical attention given to Dutt, even in Bengal, was that his creative career roughly coincided with that of the legendary Sombhu Mitra. The Bengali intelligentsia, as well as the common theatre enthusiast, is filled with an unmitigated adoration for Mitra. An opposition between Dutt and Mitra had crept in right at the onset of their respective careers, which was perhaps initiated by the difference in their political ideologies. These differences have clouded our assessment of Dutt. One was almost made to believe that a positive appraisal of Dutt was, in effect, a criticism of Mitra, and one had to “choose” either Utpal Dutt or Sombhu Mitra.65 Even after more than two decades of Mitra’s demise, we tend to lionize him, and even the slightest criticism is looked upon with askance. Such an attitude, typical of our propensity towards adulatory hero worship, has contributed to the strange neglect of Dutt in the critical canon in West Bengal. Further, Dutt, on account of his anti-establishment stance, was never adequately represented on platforms which function under the influence of government authorities, like media or the radio and television. No comprehensive, full-length appraisal of his theatre is available in English or in Bengali, even after three decades since his demise. Several articles and interviews concerning his theatre are scattered across various newspapers and magazines, which I have accessed and referred to in this book. Representations of Dutt in popular media continue to be lackadaisical attempts shorn of adequate objective research. Sudeshna Basu’s article (published on 29 September 2018) in Anandabajar Patrika (Saturday supplementary Patrika) is a case in point. Basu claims that Dutt “added” Brecht to the repertoire of Bengali theatre, as Girish Ghosh had done earlier with the works of Michael

63

For Sova Sen’s account of the incident, see Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 277. Dipendu Chakrabarti sheds light on this issue in a fine appraisal of Dutt’s works: Dipendu Chakrabarti, “Natyakar Utpal Dutt: Ekti Asampurna Mulyayan”, Anustup, vol. 12, no. 1, 1977. 65 Refer Samik Bandyopadhyay, interview, 10 September 2018. 64

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Madhusudan Dutt.66 Contrary to this claim, Dutt believed that Brecht’s style or content was not suited to the needs of the Bengali audience. In fact, he was critical of the performances of Brecht’s plays popular in Calcutta. In his opinion, these plays were no more than inept Bengali translations of English translations of Brecht, and misled the audience as far as understanding Brecht’s style was concerned. Dutt’s assessment of Brecht’s style has been explored in detail in the fourth chapter. Basu deserves accolades for her honest attempt in trying to familiarize Dutt to the uninitiated reader. Yet, the article is symptomatic of most of the existing assessments of Dutt’s work. The remarks appear casual and generalized. Quite a few habitual errors of information that we come across in discussing Dutt’s life were actually originated by him. For instance, he was given to saying that his place of birth was Shillong (and not Kirtankhola in Barishal). Similarly, he erroneously described his first meeting with Geoffrey Kendal to have taken place on 15 August 1947, India’s Independence Day.67 It has been pointed out earlier that Kendal watched Dutt perform for the first time only on 22 December 1947. Such errors of information, unfortunately, continue to be accepted uncritically in both intellectual circles and casual discussions concerning Dutt. Dutt professionally engaged with the film industry, both in Bombay and Calcutta, in spite of being a Marxist. His theatre was designed to politically motivate and inspire the common man to rebellion. In order to achieve his end, it was required of him to engage his audience intellectually and force them to think deeply about the causes of their socioeconomic exploitation. His signature comic roles in asinine films, both in Hindi and Bengali—designed to provide mere visceral entertainment—were certainly not in tune with his responsibilities as a Marxist artist. Dutt, too, declared unambiguously that he could not reconcile his work on stage to his work in Bombay pot-boilers. However, in defence of his own involvement with the film industry, he claimed that monetary compulsions forced him to sign up for these films. Further, such ideological compromise was necessary for an artist’s survival in a capitalist society.68 His justification does not appear to be convincing. In fact, he was himself not certain of his forays into the film industry. He was of the opinion that ‘bad’ things find takers too easily in the present social set-up. Just like market economy cannot be allowed to make decisions on the sale of drugs or narcotics, it should not be allowed to decide the fate of literature or culture.69 We are left to wonder at this need to protect ‘good’ art, as art of merit should be able to thrive in spite of the onslaught of other forms of entertainment. Further, it may not be possible for an actor of the theatre to preserve himself entirely from the negative impact of acting in films. Dutt’s ability to deliver dialogue fluently in literary Bengali was adversely affected by his 66

Sudeshna Basu, “Lal Durger Atandra Prahari Nat, Natyakar O Parichalak Utpal Dutt”, Anandabajar Patrika, 29 September 2018. 67 Dutt, “Little Theatre O Ami”, 10. 68 Dutt has discussed his involvement with the film industry. See Utpal Dutt, “Utpal Dutt – Samakalin Rajniti-Natak-Chalachitra O Anyanya”, interview by Anjan Banerjee and Joydip Bagchi, Anustup, 5 July 1983; and Utpal Dutt, “Rebel Without a Pause”, interview by Kavita Nagpal, India Today, 16–31 October 1977, (Natya Shodh Sansthan files on Utpal Dutt, p.344). 69 See Utpal Dutt, “Kata Sainiker Digvijay”.

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association with films.70 Dutt’s work in films with directors like Satyajit Ray or Mrinal Sen perhaps gave him opportunities to improve his skills as an actor. But, as far as most of his work in slapstick comedies is concerned, it is difficult to reconcile his ideological convictions with his career in the film industry, even if we consider monetary compulsions. Dutt’s rejection, or acceptance, of various awards bestowed by the Central Government was not free from controversy either. In 1966, the Sangeet Natak Akademi nominated him for an award as the best director. In the same year, the government had refused to facilitate Dutt’s visit to East Germany on an official invitation. Dutt rejected the award and wrote a poem (“Sahensa Tomar Puraskar Tomari Thak”— Keep Your Award to Yourself, O Emperor) publicizing his opposition to the government. However, he had accepted the Sangeet Natak Akademi award for best playwright in 1963, which was conferred upon him for his 1961 play Phera¯ri Phauj. There is no substantial evidence to show that the nature of the Congress government changed substantially over three years for Dutt to justify his rejection of the later award based on his ideological opposition to the government in office. In fact, one may remember several incidents that could have prompted Dutt to reject his 1963 award, in case his rejection (or acceptance) of government awards was consistently based on ideological convictions.71 On the personal front, Dutt was arrested in 1965, as we have discussed earlier. Thus, one may be led to believe that he was prompted by transient situations in his personal life, rather than overarching ideological convictions, in his rejection of Akademi awards. Towards the end of his life in 1991, the Government of India chose to confer the country’s second highest civilian honour—the Padma Vibhushan—upon him. Dutt rejected this award too.72 It is almost impossible to reconcile the various, and varying, facets of Utpal Dutt’s life as a creative artist. One can safely assert the fact that his contribution to postIndependence Bengali theatre is unprecedented in terms of its range, variety, and virtuosity. In Dutt’s own assessment, he was primarily an agitator and a political propagandist.73 However, as I shall attempt to show in this book, it is his aesthetic contribution to Bengali theatre that deserves our attention. He was different from most of his contemporaries in that he dared to fail and commit errors rather than cling to a reputation that had come his way quite early. He was passionately political. His Marxist reading of history may have been flawed at times (as we shall see later), but he was committed to his understanding of history. He could combine the histrionics of the Jatra with the design of contemporary Western theatre. He had the curious ability 70

See Dutt, “Amar Rajniti Amar Theatre”, 86. Among various other instances of strong-arming political adversaries, the Congress government at the Centre, in a move that threatened the spirit of the Constitution of India, ousted a democratically elected C. P. I. government in Kerala (led by E. M. S. Namboodiripad) in 1959, and imposed President’s rule in that state. 72 See Samik Bandyopadhyay, Introduction, Rangvarta, nos. 39–41, March – May 1989, 2. Sova Sen believed that the “counter revolutionary” government in India never adequately recognized Dutt’s merit. See her “PLT-er Purba Germany Saphar”, Epic Theatre, nos. 7–12, 1985, 3. 73 Utpal Dutt, “Mukhomukhi”, interview by Bibhas Chakrabarti, Epic Theatre: Utpal Dutt Smarak Sankhya, March 1994, 98. 71

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to package his ardent propaganda in a way that did not hinder the popularity of his plays, even among people who did not share his political opinions.74 Not only did he contribute a vast corpus of original drama to Bengali theatre, but also directed most of the productions of his groups. He took up important acting assignments. In addition to his creative work for the stage, as an intellectual of repute, he studied world theatre in depth from a Marxist point of view and wrote widely on the subject, as well as on several other relevant socioeconomic issues. Generally, such accolades are shared by several individuals. To juggle so many responsibilities through a career that spanned over four decades is no mean task. As we shall see in the following pages of this book, Dutt was never too far away from controversies; which have, unfortunately, diverted attention away from his works. Dutt’s popular and politically provocative theatre presents a unique paradigm in Indian theatre. As students of theatre, we need to be wary of getting trapped in naïve aphorisms in our assessment of his work in theatre. We must ensure that our assessments follow dedicated, objective analysis of his work. Perhaps the most sympathetic assessment of Dutt would be to label him an untiring worker for the theatre. He was committed to his goal throughout his career. He seems to reflect the stages of the growth of a revolutionary artist explained by Frantz Fanon in Black Skin, White Masks. First, the artist accepts the education of the imperialist without protest. Then, he learns about his national identity, folk cultures, traditions, and so on. In the final stage, after identifying the dialectical relation between his traditional education and the ‘new’ education that he has assimilated, he rises in protest against the exploiters. Owing to Dutt’s close association with Marxist politics and propaganda, the overt political content of several of his plays, and his own assessment of his work, he is generally seen as a propagandist who used theatre as a platform to further his Marxist agenda. Dutt’s vast and varied dramatic oeuvre presents one with an opportunity to examine the correlation between his political philosophy and the aesthetic merit of his art. This book enquires whether the aesthetic qualities of his plays were shaped by his belief in Marxist sociopolitical philosophy or modified somewhat by artistic considerations. In the following pages, it shall be my endeavour to analyse Dutt’s plays as objectively as possible and identify the originality of his art that allowed his political commitment to exist alongside aesthetic qualities of enduring merit. We will now attempt to understand various aspects of Dutt’s theatrical art through a careful analysis of his plays. Let us begin by studying the impact of his politics on his artistic consciousness in the following chapter.

74

For some valuable assessments of Dutt’s career, see P. Lal, “Good Night, Sweet Comrade”; N. Viswanathan, “Dutt: A Happy Warrior That Every Man in Arms Should Wish To Be”, Economic Times, 20 August 1993; Samik Bandyopadhyay, Introduction, Rangavarta; Sudipto Chatterjee, “Utpal Dutt 1929–1993”, The Drama Review 38, no. 1 (Spring 1994).

Chapter 2

Politics: The Engagement of Ideological Convictions and Thematics

It has been suggested in the previous chapter that Dutt’s brief association with the IPTA was an important learning curve for him as a dramatist. It was here that he realized the need to take his theatre to mass audiences. As Dutt interpreted the purpose of his art in terms of Marxist-Leninist precepts, he could not remain satisfied with brewing a revolution on stage before a handful of aristocratic English-speaking viewers. As a practitioner of political theatre, he knew that he could not afford to stop at exposing the system responsible for exploiting the proletariat; he needed to preach revolution as an imminent possibility. This chapter will be devoted to an assessment of the impact of Dutt’s political convictions on the growth of his artistic consciousness. Dutt’s engagement with the Jatra form was crucial in shaping his ideas about the objective of political theatre. A distinctive feature of the Jatra form, since its origin, has been the free participation from all sections of society, without any distinction in terms of class or caste. The Jatra has certainly evolved over centuries, but it has always remained a popular form with which the rank and file can identify. Dutt’s association with the IPTA introduced him to this essential tenet of people’s theatre—the necessity to communicate with the masses, which, in turn, influenced both his style and subject matter. In fact, one may claim that it gave his theatre its distinguishing trait. In spite of experiments in both style and content, Dutt’s theatre was primarily meant for rankand-file audience, who lack sophisticated knowledge. His association with the IPTA did not merely influence his theoretical understanding of the purpose of theatre. His creative work was built on the tradition of his association with the IPTA. A definite understanding of this quality will emerge out of an analysis of some of his plays later in this chapter. Before we assess these plays, it is necessary that we understand Dutt’s concept of the inherent political nature of theatre. He believed that the very act of spending time in the playhouse carries sociological value.1 Sitting close together 1

See Utpal Dutt, “Innovation and Experimentation in Theatre”, cyclostyled paper presented at the national seminar on ‘Indian Literature: An End-century Assessment’ at India International Centre, New Delhi, 20–24 February 1991.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0_3

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to watch a tragedy unfold may enable us to be more sympathetic to one another and make us a body of kinsmen. Dutt here draws on the notion of affiliation under stress: psychologists believe that individuals sharing similar stress draw closer to one another. From the early days of Greek civilization, theatre has served the purpose of fostering unity among citizens. In this way, it has contributed to the formation of the political state itself. Thus, theatre that seeks immunity from social reality denies one of the primary reasons that contributed to its birth. In most societies, the ideas and convictions of the ruling class come to dominate and claim their place as ‘eternal’ values that define the particular society. The bourgeois class considers the current state of social relations as permanent as this would serve to perpetuate its position of dominance. Therefore, it attempts to peddle its own value system as eternal and representative of the society as a whole. The Marxist denies such an unscientific overview of social dynamics. Social order is never static. Rather, it is evolutionary; and the proletariat will ultimately displace the bourgeois from its current position of dominance. So, the claim that ideas of the bourgeoisie stand as eternal, must be contested. It is here that political theatre may play a crucial role, for it seeks to proselytize the minds of men.2 Politics implies all of man’s economic, social, class, and individual actions. So, if theatre chooses to reject politics, it must do so at the cost of renouncing man himself. Perhaps, an immutable, pure art form cannot exist in the theatre, which can only gain relevance in its ability to contemporize itself. In this light, Dutt’s criticism of absurdist playwrights like Beckett, Pinter, and Ionesco, on account that they present man in his most helpless state, becomes difficult to justify.3 In a world torn apart by the Second World War and the Holocaust, it was not surprising to find man portrayed in contemporary works of art as a helpless victim, isolated and at odds with a hostile world. A play written in the aftermath of the Second World War would have been inauthentic in its portrayal of reality had it presented man in apparent grandeur. In his political theatre, Dutt believed it was more important to validate “truth” rather than show allegiance to pure “facts”.4 Practitioners of political theatre cannot afford to present both sides of a story objectively and rely on the judgement of the audience. They must preach revolution and convince the audience of the need to violently smash the existing social status-quo. To achieve this end, their “truth” must be avowedly partisan, enabling them to side with the proletariat. A political play cannot merely represent the current state of affairs. Events which are not happening in the present, but should happen or will happen in future, also comprise revolutionary truth in political theatre. This allows dramatists to consider revolution an imminent possibility, which might see the light of day even within the limited scope of the play itself. Further, it is not imperative that a political play must deal with the proletariat alone. A play which dabbles in bourgeois value systems, 2

Dutt discusses the purpose of political theatre elaborately. See Utpal Dutt, “Innovation and Experimentation in Theatre”; Utpal Dutt, What Is To Be Done? (New Delhi: Shri Ram Centre for Art and Culture, 1988), 10–11. Dutt delivered a series of three lectures (one each on 13, 14, and 15 February, 1986), entitled “What Is To Be Done?” at the Shri Ram Centre for Art and Culture, New Delhi. The lectures were later printed in book form. 3 See Dutt, “Piscator, R¯ ajnaitik N¯atyas¯al¯ar Janak”, Epic Theatre, 1984. 4 See Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 20 onwards.

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and serves to signal the erosion of the bourgeois social order, is also political. To a politically committed dramatist like Dutt, political theatre is an ideological weapon against the bourgeoisie, which must be used astutely to trigger the potential for rebellion among the masses. Political theatre must convince the masses that their fate is not passive acceptance of their helpless state. Rather, they must unitedly strive against their exploiters and forcefully snatch their rights and demands. Dutt held the German director Erwin Piscator in high regard, and his own ideas of political theatre were influenced by the latter. Dutt believed Piscator to be the first exponent of the use of theatre as a political weapon, whose greatest achievement was the presentation of contemporary politics without compromising popularity.5 To Piscator, a play was actually political activity in another form. His art was conscious propaganda; in fact, the word “art” was banned from his programme. Piscator’s theatre was not just meant to speak for the proletariat, but primarily a platform for their political activity.6 Dutt’s theatre—while it was certainly inspired by Piscator’s Proletarian Theatre—did not completely divorce itself from artistic considerations. He did not compromise his political ideal; neither did he stop his quest for artistic excellence in his theatre. Dutt was not the initiator of political plays in Bengali theatre. Powerful dramatists like Michael Madhusudan Dutt and Dinabandhu Mitra (whose Nildarpan is among the most noteworthy examples in this regard) reflected the politics of their time in their plays. But playwrights who preceded Dutt differed from him in terms of their presentation of politics. Their principal objective was to popularize the need for positive transformation in society, in line with the social reforms initiated by the great social reformers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Dutt’s contribution to political theatre in Bengali is unique in the sense that, unlike his predecessors, he never attempted to disguise political opinion in his plays. Instead of wrapping political realities in sociohistorical contexts, he directly attacked the ruling class, generally naming his political targets unambiguously in his plays. His method was fraught with danger in terms of courting the wrath of the establishment, and Dutt had to pay heavy price on several occasions. That he was able to follow this method throughout his long career—including the tumultuous decade of the seventies in West Bengal, when political adversaries of the Congress party from all walks of life faced heavy weather—is testimony to his devotion to his political objective as well as his indomitable courage.7 Ideology is a central concern of political theatre. This kind of theatre seeks to awaken the masses from their metaphorical stupor and help them comprehend the systematic exploitation of the proletariat in a feudalistic or capitalistic social set-up. The dramatist hopes to win over the masses to his side. In this endeavour, a political 5

See Dutt, “Piscator, R¯ajnaitik N¯atyas¯al¯ar Janak”. See Erwin Piscator, The Political Theater, trans. Hugh Rorrison (London: Eyre Methuen, 1980), 45. 7 For further discussion on this issue, see Hiren Bhattacharya, “Bangla Rajnaitik Natak O Utpal Dutt”, in Utpal Dutt—Ek Samagrik Abalokan, (Kolkata: Utpal Dutt Natyotsav 2005 Committee), 2005. 6

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play must project the ideology of the working class on stage. However, the working class suffers various doubts and fears as a result of centuries of oppression. They lack ideological conviction and commitment. Plays dealing with the proletariat need to carefully negotiate their ideological vacillations. It is difficult to reconcile the ‘weak’ (and, thus, human) nature of these characters with the steadfast commitment to ideology that political theatre demands. The dramatist, in maintaining this delicate balance, may end up overcompensating either phenomenon: the characters may seem passive victims or the dramatist may foist a grand rebellion upon his audience which does not seem to be a result of logical development of the plot. Ideology does not depend only on class identity. Even within the same class, people belonging to various economical strata may commit to differing ideologies. It may be helpful to turn our attention to the four basic principles of Soviet socialist realism, which is the most appropriate theoretical basis for understanding Dutt’s use of drama as a political weapon. The First Soviet Writers’ Conference in 1934 prescribed adherence to four principles for all socialist art.8 The first of these principles, narodnost, implied that all forms of art must be intelligible to the common people (narod). Thus, artistic experimentation that may appear abstract or elitist to the common people was to be excluded. Dutt’s work in the theatre hinged on his ability to draw a large number of viewers whom he could entertain. His innovations and experiments never made his theatre unintelligible to the masses. Next, ideinost, implied a reflection of progressive, socialist view of history and social development in art. Dutt’s plays adhered to this principle too. For instance, in Jalianwalabagh or Mahavidroha (discussed later in this chapter), he reassessed historical events in socialist light. The third principle, partiinost, required literature to serve the interests of the Communist Party. Although it may be argued that Dutt’s work did not always conform to this principle, most of his street plays were written to aid election campaigns of the Communist Party. His proscenium and Jatra plays, however, were committed to socialist ideology but not necessarily written to aid the Communist Party electorally. As I have explored later in this book, the manner in which his work engaged with the interests of the Communist Party varied over time; especially after 1977, when the Left Front assumed political power in West Bengal. Finally, tipichnost (or, typicality in art) implied not what is typical of the present (which is susceptible to criticism) but what will be typical of the socialist future. All works of art must contain a promise of such a future, howsoever unlikely it may seem in the present context. In Tir or Son re Malik (discussed later), the rebellions constituted by the proletariat appear illogical within the limited scope of the play. Yet, they speak of the possibilities of the socialist future. Dutt’s plays, thus, conformed to at least three of the principal tenets of Soviet socialist realism. A related concern for the practitioner of political theatre is the negotiation of religious beliefs in working-class people. In a paper presented at a conference at the University of Lancaster (on “Theatre, Politics and Ideology”), Dutt explained that the Indian working class has been brainwashed over centuries to believe that 8

For an elaborate discussion of the principles of socialist art, see Dennis Kennedy, ed., Oxford Encyclopedia of Theatre and Performance, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

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exploitation alone is their lot.9 He discussed instances drawn from the ancient practice of Hinduism, where the Sudras were not allowed to access the Vedas. They could hope to attain nirvana only through relentless, unrewarded labour. It was not difficult to hoodwink the uneducated, gullible Sudra. Dutt established in his paper that the interests of religion and class viciously mingle in order to maintain status-quo in an exploitative social order. The Brahmin’s interests were thus safeguarded. The proletarian, subjected to atrocities over centuries, begins to believe that his exploitation is part of the natural order of things. This becomes his ideology. The ideas of soul and after-life popular in Hindu religious belief have also been misused by the ruling class in India to perpetuate the exploitation of the proletariat. The soul is believed to transcend the body to be reborn on multiple occasions. One who suffers exploitation and strives to alter his situation may be suitably misled into believing that his pitiable condition is no more than the consequence of sins accumulated over past lives. If such ideas gain validity among the populace, they may be convinced into believing that the current social order is permanent and attempts to alter the dynamics of society are doomed to failure. Such a scenario obviously allows the ruling class to perpetuate their domination. Any form of revolutionary theatre must obliterate these ideas before it can hope to spread its own ideology with any success. Practitioners of political theatre must remember that the working class, devastated through centuries of systematic exploitation, can no longer locate themselves in man’s march towards greater glory. They have lost the ability to look at the cultural icons of our race as their own. Revolutionary theatre must work towards assimilating the proletariat into the great humanist tradition of literature and culture. This will aid them in developing their personality—an imperative in their growth as a potential revolutionary force. In this context, the performance of classics chosen from world literature may have a decisive role to play. Based on his convictions, Dutt produced classics like Tagore’s Visarjan and Shakespeare’s Macbeth during his days with IPTA. These productions attracted crowds in great numbers.10 This was a revelation for him, lost as he was at that time in English plays watched by a handful of the privileged. It has been explained earlier that the experience of Dutt’s association with the IPTA taught him the virtue of writing for mass audiences. A political play can never afford to compromise on mass appeal in order to preach ideology. In fact, theatre, as an art form, must be popular in order to survive. There is no room for exclusive categories of entertainment and instruction in theatre. A political play will convincingly carry its politics to the masses only if they derive entertainment out of instruction.11 We must also remember that any form of art depends on innovation and experiment in order to grow and flourish. This is all the more relevant in the case of theatre 9

See Utpal Dutt, “Theatre O Mat¯adarsa: Bharatiya Patabhumi”, Epic Theatre, nos. 4–7, March 1990. 10 See Dutt, “Little Theatre O A¯mi”, 22. 11 Bertolt Brecht pioneered the idea that political theatre must entertain the audience. See Bertolt Brecht, “Theatre for Pleasure or Theatre for Instruction”, Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an Aesthetic, trans. John Willett (London: Methuen, 1964), 72–73.

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because its success or failure depends on direct interaction with people. So does the dramatist serve popular political clichés, satisfying himself that he is catering to the masses? Or, does he dare to experiment with style and content and attempt to enhance the understanding of his audience? This is a double-edged sword which troubles most politically committed dramatists, and Dutt was no exception. Experimentation does not imply a cavalier rejection of all forms and techniques used by predecessors. One must attempt to realize the value and potential of all extant forms, especially folk forms, before trying to suit them to one’s own period. Folk forms may prove to be effective in communicating with unlettered mass audiences who have been reared to appreciate such forms as an inalienable part of their heritage. Astute experimentation, which draws upon folk forms, may ensure involvement of the audience during performance. It has the potential to break through the barrier of the audience’s disinterestedness and awaken their consciousness. However, experiments which seek to use ancient folk forms merely as a prosthetic appendage to carry some political message to the masses are doomed to failure. Innovation in theatre may draw from folk forms, but not in any haphazard manner. A dramatist needs to master the folk form through years of dedicated study and practice before using it effectively to suit the needs of political theatre.12 An innovator in the true sense of the term is not one who clamours about his difference from all that has gone before, but one who is able to locate himself as part of a tradition and carry it forward. Traditional legends and folk forms enjoy tremendous popularity among the masses. Political theatre must make the best use of this popularity in its attempt to spread its ideology. Experiments which transform easily intelligible stories into complex ideas beyond the grasp of the rank and file have no place in political plays. Thus, innovation in political theatre is welcome only insofar as it contributes to enhancing the scope of a literary work without compromising its popular appeal. Ideally, a dramatist must be popular and creative at the same time. He must experiment and move towards new creations, but never leave his audience behind. A dramatist can never afford the luxury to claim that future generations will evaluate his work, which lies beyond the grasp of his contemporary audience. Dutt did not advocate experiment in his theatre for the sake of it. Nurtured by Marxist ideas of art, he never forgot that innovations which restrict, rather than enhance, the popularity of his theatre among the masses must be avoided.13 He believed that the relationship between quality and popularity of a political play is dialectical. A political play must strive to elevate the consciousness of the audience. In turn, the quality of a production is determined by its reception among the audience. However, as we shall see in our forthcoming analysis of his plays in this book, Dutt, in practice, often fell prey to the demands of popularity. In this context, Brecht’s Epic Theatre may be considered a worthy instance of experiment in political theatre. Though his subject matter drew heavily upon contemporary German politics, Brecht’s technique was not rootless as it drew

12

See Dutt, “Innovation and Experimentation in Theatre”. Dutt discussed the validity of innovation in political theatre. See Dutt, “Innovation and Experimentation in Theatre”; and Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 27.

13

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upon the centuries-old tradition of the morality play where, too, characters were split up in their representation. Dutt believed that it was imperative for workers on the cultural front to participate in political rebellion or agitation in order to equip themselves to take their art to the proletariat. If the dramatist is unable to communicate his ideas to the audience, in spite of the fact that he writes about their plight, the failure is entirely his. Though Dutt was in favour of the participation of artists in political agitation, he never felt that political workers could double up as political artists as a subsidiary occupation. He vouched for thorough professionalism without compromising one’s ideology. In fact, he was critical of the unaccountable hatred for professionals that characterized the leaders on the cultural front within the Communist Party.14 Another purpose of experiment in political theatre is to disturb the audience and force them to come out of their comfort zone. The Marxist believes that, in his present state, man is alienated from all his faculties except that of possession. Experiments may involve techniques to shock or startle the audience so that they are forced to participate in the act of sharing ideas with the actors and the dramatist. In this regard, we need to consider the incorporation of folk forms in modern productions. Through years of experience of direct interaction with the masses, practitioners of folk forms have an inherent sense of the reaction of the audience. This is reflected in the promptitude with which actors of the Jatra in Bengal have, historically, capitalized on contemporary issues and worked out effective theatrical devices to present them before the audience with enormous success. However, uncritical assimilation of folk forms into modern theatre is not the way forward, as indigenous forms like the Jatra are themselves prostituted to the market in a capitalist society. Dutt’s involvement with professional Jatra was a notable instance of adapting a commercial enterprise to achieve the ends of political theatre. Jatra has been a popular form of entertainment in Bengal over centuries. The structure of a Jatra production allows the dramatist to present contemporary political issues while evoking the timelessness of our epics or scriptures. The audience instantly connects with a Jatra production and responds as a group to the spectacle on stage. Thus, the form of the Jatra may be adroitly infused with politically provocative content to create effective political theatre. Jatra companies are on tour away from cities for long periods of time. This allows Jatra actors the opportunity to interact with peasants, workers, and the rural populace (who primarily patronize and support the Jatra form) in close quarters. Compared to their counterparts in proscenium theatre based in urban areas, they arrive at a much deeper understanding of the needs and wants of the common people. Naturally, Jatra actors are better equipped to internalize the objective of political theatre and effectively communicate politics to the masses. A revolutionary dramatist will certainly want such actors on his side in order to achieve his political purpose. The nature of Jatra made it possibly the most effective medium for carrying

14

See Utpal Dutt, “Ekti Dirgha Sakshatkar”, interview by Alok Raychaudhuri, Bishay Theatre (Kolkata: Natyachinta, 1999).

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Dutt’s political message to his viewers.15 Dutt was not the first to experiment with politically charged content in the Jatra medium. Before him, dramatists like Phanibhushan Vidyavinod indirectly represented contemporary political events in their Jatra plays. Dutt’s work in the Jatra was novel in that he took up contemporary political events with brazen directness, without trying to disguise his opinion in any way. Dutt’s association with the folk theatre was not just a professional assignment. It was also part of his desperate endeavour to reach a wider cross section of people. We have seen in the previous chapter that Dutt’s early career in English theatre often involved performances before a handful of intellectuals. He had realized quite early that the effectiveness of political theatre hinged on the ability of the dramatist to carry his message effectively to the masses. The widespread popularity of the Jatra—especially among the rank and file—was just the kind of opportunity that Dutt was looking for.16 His involvement with the Jatra impacted his writing as well as the acting style which his group followed. He returned to proscenium theatre from the Jatra with tremendous enthusiasm and a different attitude. He observed first-hand that a majority of the population of his country was illiterate; yet these very people were the greatest patrons of Jatra, readings from the epics, and other folk-art forms. He became conscious of the demands of this section of the audience and realized that he had to get across to them even if it necessitated an oversimplified presentation of ideas at the cost of artistic subtlety. Dutt’s attempt to elevate Jatra above its purely commercial concerns did not bear fruit. The proprietors or owners of the Jatra companies soon realized that Dutt’s brand of plays could not be allowed to run, as they squarely propagandized against the capitalist class that they themselves were part of. So, after Dutt, the form reverted into the inanities of commercial theatre. However, Dutt’s association with the Jatra left certain indelible impressions. Actors like Indra Lahiri, Gautam Sadhukhan, Madhu Bhattacharya, Bina Ghosh, Anjana Bandyopadhyay, Bula Ghosh, among many others, were able to enrich Jatra with the able guidance of Utpal Dutt. His expert tutelage created a tradition of Jatra performances which was a revelation for intellectual circles, generally used to scoffing at Jatra as loud and melodramatic. His inherent respect for the form ensured that he could use it effectively for his political theatre, as we shall discover in our analysis of some of his Jatra plays later in his book. An important determinant of a revolutionary dramatist is his perception of historical events. Members of the ruling class like to believe that the present social order is permanent and immutable. This implies that they may continue to hoard privileges and exploit the working class for their own benefit. The Marxist, however, believes that the various phases of history are dynamic. No social order can remain in force forever. The proletariat sees truth as a consequence of the constantly changing dynamics of society. Thus, no absolute truth exists in the proletariat’s perspective. The fact that they are presently dominated by the bourgeoisie does not imply that they 15

Dutt elaborately discussed his point of view regarding the effectiveness of Jatra as a form for political theatre. See Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, 229; and Dutt, What Is To Be Done? 28. 16 See Utpal Dutt, “Utpal Dutt Interviewed”, interview by Samik Bandyopadhyay, Enact, nos. 68–69, August–September 1972, n.p.

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will remain dominated forever. Rather, revolution is an imminent possibility, and the proletariat can hope to turn the tables on the capitalist class. In this context, Dutt, as a revolutionary dramatist, attempted to present historical events in their proper historical perspective. As communists bear the legacy of various people’s movements in history, it is the responsibility of a revolutionary dramatist to represent these struggles on the stage. Communists in India claim the heritage of the mutinies of peasants and other marginalized groups and the radicalism in the anti-imperialist struggle. Many of Dutt’s plays reflect this heritage. Dutt has, however, often taken recourse to imagined history. For example, the character Samudragupta in Suryasik¯ar (Hunting the Sun, 1971) was not the historical emperor, the described feud between him and the Buddhist priest Kalhan never took place. Rather, the events reflected the controversy surrounding Galileo’s infamous recantation in seventeenth-century Italy. However, Suryasik¯ar is not a mere figment of the dramatist’s imagination. It highlights issues of caste, race, class, and power which were relevant to the history of the country during the era of the Gupta emperors and continue to be relevant today. In this way, Dutt dexterously blends myth and history.17 His play Kallol, where, contrary to historical records, he shows the crew of the ship Khyber refusing to surrender, has faced allegations of distorting history. Dutt justified his position by claiming that, as a revolutionary dramatist, he had to prioritize revolutionary truth above historical facts. In this context, one may think of Eisenstein’s film Battleship Potemkin where, too, the ship does not surrender, contrary to historical evidence. Kallol is discussed in detail later in this book. A large number of Dutt’s plays owe their origin to major rebellions of the past. Kallol (based on the Indian Naval mutiny of 1946), Nilrakta (based on the Indigo rebellion in 1859–60), Sany¯asir Tarabari (The Sword of the Sanyasi, 1972, based on the Sanyasi rebellion where ascetics rose up in arms against the East India Company following the infamous Bengal famine of 1770), Titumir (drawn from the struggles of the legendary freedom fighter Titumir, 1782–1831), and Mah¯avidroha (based on the First War of Independence, 1857) belong to this category. International events like the history of the Paris Commune (Muktidiksh¯a, A Lesson for Freedom, 1977) and the French Revolution (Nil S¯ad¯a L¯al) find recognition in his works. In addition, the freedom struggles in Cuba and Vietnam and the activities of Lenin and Stalin in the Soviet Union contributed to his dramatic oeuvre. Often, other historical plays influenced his works. Sim¯anta (The Frontier, 1975), where the character Shah Suja bears a stark resemblance to the eponymous hero of Shakespeare’s Richard III, is a case in point. His historical characters were never demigods. Henry Derozio in Jhar (“The Storm”, 1973) or Rammohun Roy in Agnisajy¯a carried the misapprehensions of their time. They were not completely immune to the decadent values of the society that they were a part of. The overtly political content of revolutionary plays engenders the question of the association of the dramatist with the revolutionary political party. Often, the artist is drawn towards the party because of his ideological commitment, only to be disillusioned by the regimented structure within the party, which is detrimental to the growth 17

For further discussion on this issue, see Sudeshna Chakrabarti, “Utpal Dutter Itih¯as Chetan¯a: Darsan, Niti O R¯ajniti”, Epic Theatre, August 2010, 39 onwards.

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of his individual creative consciousness. Party ‘guidance’ soon takes the shape of regimentation within a bureaucratic set-up in an attempt to bulldoze the artist into a ‘party line’. Dutt always acknowledged the positive impact of his relations with the Communist Party on his art.18 As discussed earlier, it was always Dutt’s endeavour to reach out to the working class with his plays. His stint with the IPTA helped him realize this goal quite effectively. We have seen how this experience, short-lived as it was, influenced Dutt’s creative potential. He used the street-corner play for direct party propaganda, while his proscenium plays bear the stamp of his ideological commitment. He was proud of his identity as a partisan, rather than neutral, artist who used theatre as a political weapon. Ideological commitment in artists is not novel. Usually, creative artists do not wish to be labelled as sympathizers of a particular ideology as it limits the variety of their creative potential. They crave absolute independence so that they may present a balanced perspective on events, without having to shoulder the predecided responsibility of championing a particular agenda. This explains the reluctance in most artists to publicize their political conviction, even if it is fairly strong. Dutt bore nothing but contempt for such neutrals. He was never shy of aggressively advertising the fact that he was a communist. Active participation in politics, he believed, expedited his growth as a dramatist of merit. In fact, it sustained his creative potential. Dutt never indulged in sophistry about what he meant by “active politics” or “revolutionary theatre”. He advocated rebellion against the ruling class, unabashedly naming the Congress party as his target in several of his plays. He preached what he believed, without caring for consequences. He even took pride in the fact that his plays had been attacked on various occasions by agents of the ruling class.19 Within the context of a revolutionary play, a rebellion must be shown as an imminent possibility as the dramatist attempts to shape the way in which the masses view social struggle. However, Dutt was not naïve to think that an immediate overthrow of the capitalist order was possible, given the context of Indian society. One cannot jump over the phase of democratic revolution and clamour for a classless communist society. A play, given its limited scope, must fast-forward the transition in social order: it must represent on stage, within a few hours, upheavals in society that will perhaps take decades to materialize. Revolutionary theatre gathers the scattered, dispersed anger of the exploited class into collective rage, channelizing their individual discontent into hatred for the ruling class. Dutt’s Marxist conviction led him to reject the neutrality of representation of events on stage. The dramatist must take sides to ensure that the exploited sections of society unite in collective anger against the ruling class. Revolutionary theatre does not offer scope for impartial examination of social issues, which would require taking all perspectives into consideration. The dramatist must offer a partisan report of events that establishes the perspective of the proletariat as truth. Once the dramatist identifies with the exploited class in these terms, he cannot remain apathetic to their lot. He becomes committed to their cause and is filled with hatred for the oppressors. It is the task of the revolutionary 18 19

See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 32 and 36. Ibid., 37.

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dramatist to spread this hatred. In the particular context of India, a revolutionary play may benefit by highlighting the rich tradition of armed insurrection against the exploitative British Raj, in opposition to the Gandhian tradition of peace. The violent, martial history of our freedom struggle may inspire the working class to rise up in arms against their exploiters. Dutt’s street plays throw light on the impact of his political consciousness on his early art. These plays were generally agitational in nature and involved direct propaganda against political adversaries.20 Street theatre was born out of a specific political need. Artists must look for innovative ways to utilize various art forms in order to raise collective consciousness against the exploitation of the proletariat. Such art forms must overcome the obstacles set forth by the bourgeois state machinery and engender proletarian class consciousness. This necessity engendered the practice of street theatre. In spite of the political origins of street theatre, the cultural workers propagandizing for the party did not always receive wholehearted support from party leaders, who looked askance upon the political potential of street theatre.21 These leaders perhaps believed that the role of street theatre was merely to gather a crowd so that they may address it. However, the common party workers discovered much earlier than their leaders that revolutionary plays were more effective in rousing the masses than speeches delivered by the leaders. I shall illustrate Dutt’s work in the street theatre with a couple of examples. He often used statistical evidence available in the public domain to drive his point home. Samajtantrik Chal (“Socialist Rice”), written with the backdrop of the severe food crisis across Bengal in 1965, indulged in direct propaganda against the Congress government. It proved to be a potent political weapon as the Congress was defeated in the 1967 State Assembly election. However, the play enjoyed only a limited run as Dutt was arrested in September 1965. Street theatre does not allow scope to develop character or plot, as the sole objective is to win the audience over in a short time to a particular belief or idea. We find the Congress Member of Legislative Assembly (MLA) Gaurhari safeguarding the interests of the grain hoarder Natabar who, in return, funds Congress electoral campaigns. An artificial food shortage is created across the state so that prices of food grains shoot up to ensure maximum profit for businessmen. The characterization of Hridayranjan, an unemployed youth, deserves some attention. He realizes that the real cause of woe of thousands of poor people across the country does not lie in external threat to the sovereignty of India, as the government wishes the people to believe. Rather, it is the unholy nexus between the ruling party and businessmen that perpetuates their exploitation. Hriday is not won over by the theoretical persuasion of the local communist leader, which seems to be quite convincing. It takes his nearest of kin to suffer the worst brutality to shock him to his senses. His eighteen-month-old nephew is killed by his sister who could no longer bear her son suffering hunger. Even within its limited scope, the play does not limit itself to political propaganda alone. It takes us into the deep recesses of the human heart and exposes the manner in which a helpless young man like Hriday is 20 21

Dutt discussed the origin of street theatre in India: Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, 231–232. See Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, 232.

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exploited by the ruling class. At the end, Dutt suggests that the duping of the masses by the government is bound to get exposed, and its days in power are numbered. Although a short one-act street play that would otherwise not require attention, Mrityur Atit (Beyond Death, 1967) demands notice because of the context in which it was written. It was based on the American playwright Irwin Shaw’s Bury the Dead (1936), a protest against warfare, in which he dramatized the ‘refusal’ of six dead American soldiers to be buried. In Dutt’s play, the protagonist Nitai—an exploited proletariat in a capitalist society—similarly refuses burial. As he is about to be disposed off after death, his corpse begins to speak out against the ills of society that he has witnessed in his lifetime. Nitai populates an exclusive space between the world of the living and the dead which can exist only in the absurdist world of the play. This insulation seems to give the dead Nitai a sense of invincibility that he certainly did not possess in his lifetime. He courageously indicts all the agents of society who are responsible for his untimely demise. Now that he is dead, no further damage can be done to him. This nullifies the power of the state machinery which seeks to force citizens into obedience by unleashing a reign of terror. The politician, the policemen, the minister, and the businessman—all representing different sections of a decadent capitalist society—cut a sorry figure when faced with his allegations. The fact that all of Nitai’s intended targets are afraid of facing up to him points to a sense of insecurity in them. If a mere corpse, which can do no more than talk, drives them almost to insanity, strong and unified protests from the living can certainly achieve more. The setting of this play conveys definite political allusions. The opening stage direction informs the reader that an army officer and an armed policeman supervise the attempted disposal of Nitai’s corpse. The scenario is prophetic because incidents like these, where hundreds of innocent young men were allegedly murdered in cold blood by state agents on imaginary charges of association with ultra-left Naxalite politics, became rampant in Kolkata and elsewhere in West Bengal in the 1960s and 70s. Often, such corpses were unceremoniously dumped in remote locations to prevent unpleasant queries from the deceased’s kin. These young men were later reported to be ‘missing’. Alert viewers could instantly recognize that Nitai could be one of these helpless young men preyed upon by the police. His final words, addressed to the audience, are an unequivocal call for armed struggle against exploitative state machinery: Nitai (shouting at the top of his voice): Come forward all of you! … I will not lie down in peace. Those who are no more, those whom they [the police and other state agents] have murdered, cannot sleep in peace. They are looking up to you all in the hope of bloody revenge. Remember us and prepare yourselves to fight.22

The relation between politics and theatre is as old as theatre itself. Historically, politics has been a site of struggle, of contest for power within society. Such struggles find representation in various cultural practices. Theatre can never be practised in isolation. Its direct interaction with the public makes it a significant institution that

22

Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 4, (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1996), 56.

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may affect political struggle.23 The twentieth century was the witness to the rise of self-consciously political theatre, inspired by a growing desire that theatre should have a decisive impact on society. The popularity of Marxist philosophy, along with associated analyses of society and economy, was a major influence on the politicalization of drama. Dutt drew on both Western models and indigenous traditions for his political theatre. Political spectacles like mass demonstrations against the American aggression in Vietnam or protests against the massacre of innocent Indians by the British at Jalianwala Bagh have inspired him to write plays (Ajeya Vietnam and Jalianwalabagh, discussed later in this chapter). He was also conscious of the close relation between politics and theatre on the level of performance. A parallel may be drawn between an actor’s performance on stage and the manner in which modern politicians ‘perform’ while they address the masses. Dutt’s portrayal of the dictatorial ruler Banku in Ebar Rajar Pala (discussed in the following chapter) bears testimony to his awareness of the proximity in the role of an actor and that of a politician. Theatre has been traditionally used as a platform for dissent against the establishment, making it liable to censure by agents of the state. Even in the liberal atmosphere of classical Athens, Aristophanes was prosecuted for his outrageous lampooning of contemporary politicians. Dutt, too, was prosecuted on several occasions by the state. The most influential dramatist in developing the aesthetics of political theatre in the twentieth century was, of course, Bertolt Brecht. Dutt’s extensive knowledge of Brechtian theatre influenced his style extensively. I have analysed Brecht’s influence on Dutt in the fourth chapter. It is safe to assume that Dutt’s study of revolutionary theatre would have acquainted him with various theories, especially those popular in the USSR and China. The impact of Soviet socialist realism on his works has already been discussed. Chinese revolutionary modern drama (Geming Xiandai Xi) refers to the repertoire of drama permitted during the Cultural Revolution. Jiang Qing, wife of Mao Tse-tung, took an interest in developing revolutionary theatre. Her efforts on the cultural front resulted in the eight model plays of Geming being performed in Beijing in 1967 to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Mao’s Yan’an Talks. These plays were characterized by revolutionary subject matter and simplified heroes (mostly drawn from peasants or workers). They were written in the Beijing dialect for ease of access. The costumes and make-up used by actors were simplified, while the scenography was made more elaborate. An orchestra was introduced, too. The direct influence of such a style is not apparent in Dutt’s plays. In fact, he was critical of oversimplified characterization in theatre.24 In the following pages, we shall look closely at some of Dutt’s directly political full-length proscenium and Jatra plays to assess the manner in which they reveal the influence of his Marxist convictions. Ajeya Vietnam (Invincible Vietnam) premiered at Minerva Theatre on 31 August 1966.25 Dutt wrote it with the objective of winning the audience’s sympathy for the 23

On the relation between politics and performance, see Ameet Parameswaran, Performance and The Political: Power and Pleasure In Contemporary Kerala (Delhi: Orient BlackSwan Pvt. Ltd., 2017). 24 See Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 41 onwards. 25 The play was translated into English by Dutt as Invincible Vietnam in Epic Theatre, no. 4, October 1967, 1–40. However, I offer my own translation of the lines from the play quoted here. A creative

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oppressed Vietnamese people. He indulges in blatant and militant propaganda against the Americans. Dutt is more interested in showcasing his loyalty to the Vietnamese than in objective analysis of events. So, the play sensationalizes episodes in order to uphold the dramatist’s sense of justice. Dutt’s fervent desire to magnify the degree of injustice meted out to the Vietnamese leads him to present them as perfect, infallible humans. They are kind, generous, courageous, and patriotic, ever ready to sacrifice themselves for their country. In contrast, the Americans’ gross lack of empathy and respect for humanity is magnified by the dramatist. Dutt tries his best to ensure that the audience hates the Americans. He carefully details the sexual perversity of the Americans. Nurse Mao is raped on stage and murdered by American generals Wheeler and Knight. Kim and Bui are made to parade naked before members of the American army, who can hardly contain their depraved sexual excitement.26 The violent practices of the American army are dramatized in order to dehumanize them further. General Fitz-Coulton presents various forms of torture to be inflicted on the Vietnamese as scientific experiments before his colleagues. It seems that he derives pleasure out of the unprovoked violence that he and his army inflict upon innocent Vietnamese civilians: We know that that we will not win this war. But we must ensure that we leave a mark on the face of Asia … Mutilate this country beyond repair.27

The Americans try their best to instil fear in the minds of the Vietnamese, but fail miserably. The reign of terror unleashed by them serves only to strengthen the resolve of the Vietnamese. The military superiority of the Americans gives them an apparent upper hand in the battle, but they meekly surrender the moment they face the guerilla units of the Vietnamese people’s militia, without even trying to put up a fight. They are certainly not invincible. To make his clarion call for rebellion believable, Dutt does not show the superiority of the imperialists as an overwhelming truth. This could discourage the proletariat from considering socialist rebellion as an imminent possibility. So, he presents the Americans as cowardly, in spite of their apparent superiority at the beginning. Correspondingly, he attributes superhuman courage to the Vietnamese warriors. It was part of Dutt’s objective to ensure that the audience was enraged with the actions of his political adversary. He achieves this end in his portrayal of the Americans as blood-thirsty, degenerate monsters. The audience’s fury is provoked to establish that the Americans are reprobates who deserve nothing but the worst form of punishment (Image 2.1). However, Dutt does little in terms of political analysis of the situation in Vietnam. He fails to encourage his audience to intellectually engage with the sociopolitical backdrop of the American invasion of Vietnam. Ajeya Vietnam remains a particular case study which drives the audience into a fit of rage against the Americans. There is no attempt to establish similarities in natures of aggression of imperial forces in artist often alters parts of a text in translation. The lines quoted here are closer to the original Bengali text. 26 See Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 3 (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1995), 194 onwards. 27 Ibid., 170.

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Image 2.1 LTG’s Ajeya Vietnam (1966). Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

general through an in-depth socioeconomic assessment of the American aggression in Vietnam. The play does not become a universal document of anti-imperial struggle. One must remember that in the 1960s, when Ajeya Vietnam was staged, there was already a wave of popular sentiment across Bengal (and elsewhere around the world) in favour of Vietnam. Dutt perhaps wanted to ride this sentiment to ensure popularity for his play, but Ajeya Vietnam did not entirely fulfil its responsibilities as political drama. Perhaps Dutt himself realized this later and was moved to claim that the play was also designed to achieve a completely different political purpose: to train his own people in the organization of guerilla units.28 As the analysis above shows, Dutt prioritizes proving the Americans a disreputable lot, instead of focusing on training his own people in organizing guerilla units. Of all Dutt’s plays, Tir (The Arrow) is perhaps the most controversial. The Congress party lost power for the first time in West Bengal in the Legislative Assembly elections of 1967. The United Front alliance assumed office, but could do little to mitigate the increasing dissatisfaction with the system that was shared by the common people in the state, especially the youth. Rising unemployment, uncontrolled hike in price of daily essentials including food grains and the general failure 28

See Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, 225–226. In spite of its shortcomings, Ajeya Vietnam secured an international reputation when it was staged at the Volkstheater, Rostock, East Germany, in 1967.

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of law and order in the state contributed to the misery of the common man. The corrupt administration, instead of curbing malpractices, actually operated in league with capitalist crop hoarders, who illegally stocked food grains to create an artificial shortage in the market. The simmering anger of the common people climaxed in reaction to incidents of alleged police brutality at Naxalbari—a village in the Darjeeling district of West Bengal. The protest of the peasants against the state administration at Naxalbari in May–June 1967 provided the spark that spread the extremist, ultra-left ideology of the Naxalites across the state. Dutt, too, was dissatisfied with mainstream communist politics in West Bengal soon after the United Front government came to power.29 He decided to write a play based on the incidents at Naxalbari and accompanied Tapas Sen and Nirmal Guha to the site to gather suitable material. The first-hand experiences narrated to them by the revolting peasants were turned into Tir, which opened at Minerva Theatre on 16 December 1967. The primary purpose of the dramatist was to portray representatives of the state administration as ruthless and inhuman, who did not hesitate to shoot at unarmed women and children in order to strong-arm the dissenting peasants into conformity. The hoarder Satyaban, operating in partnership with agents of the state administration, reduces the hapless villagers to abject poverty and starvation. He stocks food grains to maximize his profit out of trading in them, while the villagers struggle to feed themselves. The poor peasants organize themselves and demand control over the fruits of their labour. Dutt deliberately plays up the incidents of police violence in order to serve his end of projecting representatives of the administration as monstrous. While the peasants show remarkable courage in their unequal strife against the state, the police resort to gruesome torture whenever they manage to nab the rebels in isolation. The dramatist carefully details the manner in which the police target the rebels in isolation, but avoid frontal combat when they are organized in groups.30 Panjiar—of the villagers—functions as a spy for the police and tips them off about the whereabouts of the rebels. Using Panjiar’s leads, the police commit several atrocities on the villagers. These gruesome incidents are enacted on stage. They enable the dramatist to pile on one instance after another to prove that his political adversaries (agents of the state administration in this case) are hardly human. For instance, the police open fire at unarmed women of the village who gather to celebrate a religious ritual. The women are attacked when they are least prepared. Moreover, the male rebels are not present in the vicinity as the ritual is meant exclusively for women. The elaborate sequence—enacted on stage—serves to definitively alienate the audience’s sympathy from the police. The dramatist contrasts the cowardliness of the police against the heroic courage of the rebels. As soon as the police hear the war cries of the male rebels approaching, the ‘murderers’ (this is the word that Dutt uses to identify the police) jump into a truck and escape. In contrast, the rebel Debari valiantly tries to shoot an arrow in retaliation even after she has been shot. Several other incidents of police atrocities on the villagers are graphically detailed in the play. Dutt’s characterization in Tir is influenced by his political conviction. He believed, after Mao Tse-tung, that the outcome 29 30

See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 74. See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 3, 303 onwards.

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of battles is decided by the heroism of warriors and not the superiority of artillery.31 It is the courage of the warrior who pulls the trigger, rather than the rifle itself, which proves to be decisive. The proletariat can oust the bourgeoisie from their position of dominance only through violent means. The ending of Tir seems to be an exercise in wish-fulfilment where the peasants, armed with primitive weapons, are able to challenge the might of machine guns and even succeed to an extent. The peasant rebels seem to possess superhuman abilities as they hunt down police personnel one by one with their bows and arrows. They are able to smash searchlights surrounded by protective iron nets with one shot of an arrow, and, once the lights are smashed, darkness does not interfere with the finesse and perfection of their aim as they keep shooting the arrows with ease. The dramatist glorifies the unity of peasants and workers at the end, as a worker hoodwinks Satyaban, and brings him to the rebel peasants. Contrary to the popular perception of peasant simpletons, in Tir they seem to have espoused the ruthless, hard-hearted nature of their class enemy. Satyaban helplessly drowns in a muddy whirlpool as the rebels watch on in satisfaction. Dutt’s political perception was not so naïve that he could have anticipated such a radical shift in the dynamics of class struggle within the scope of one play. He knew that the modus operandi that he preached would push the peasants and workers into a long, arduous, and unequal struggle against the capitalist class. Victory would not be achieved any time soon. As a revolutionary dramatist, he glorified armed insurrection in order to embolden future generations and inspire them to fight for their rights and privileges. However, like in Ajeya Vietnam, Dutt is too keen to stoke the anger of his audience, rather than in organic development of the plot of Tir as political theatre. He makes no attempt to elevate the political consciousness of his audience by analysing the sociopolitical backdrop of the Naxalbari movement. Given Dutt’s acclaim as a practitioner of political theatre and a Marxist intellectual of repute in the 1960s, one may rightfully expect that, in a play dealing with the rebellion at Naxalbari (which was a burning political question of the time), he would spend more time in analysing the sociopolitical causes of the uprising. Dutt himself confessed later that he overestimated the importance of the events at Naxalbari.32 These exaggerations notwithstanding the play marked an important stage of development in Dutt’s political convictions. He wrote in agreement with what he passionately believed at that point in time. Even though Dutt exaggerated the importance of the peasants’ revolt, tales of heroism of the proletariat can be effective material for political theatre. Such a subject has the potential to inspire the common man to take up arms against his exploiters. Had Dutt been more careful in presenting the socioeconomic backdrop of the Naxalbari movement, rather than provoking visceral anger of his audience, his political message in Tir would have been convincing. Tir, like many of Dutt’s other plays, is often considered mere propaganda, rather than art. Such a controversy is inane because there is no opposition per se between 31

See Dutt, “Theatre as a Weapon”, 226–227. See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 76; and Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, 76.

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propaganda and art. One should attempt to assess whether an artist is honest in expressing his own point of view in his art. As we have seen above, Dutt does not try to hide the propagandizing nature of Tir. The play records the unbridled expression of his class hatred and anger. In spite of its controversial content, Tir was staged with admirable success. The alluring power of the performances was even able to convince people even with opposing political affiliations.33 As discussed in the opening chapter, the controversy that Dutt courted in producing Tir contributed to his arrest on 24 December 1967. Subsequently, Dutt’s views on Naxalism underwent a change. In hindsight, he has been self-critical enough to accept his mistaken assessment of the political situation of the state during that time. The Naxalite rebellion had an adverse effect on theatre, too. The ultra-left ideology of Naxalism called for a destruction of establishments representative of bourgeoisie life style, including the theatre. We have seen earlier that political theatre strives to win over the minds of the proletariat in an ideological strife against the bourgeoisie, which is an essential preparatory step before a socialist rebellion. Therefore, liquidation of the theatre would be tantamount to surrendering the minds of men to be brainwashed by capitalist ideology. A politically motivated artist like Dutt could ill afford such a glaring compromise. Yuddhang Dehi (“Let the War Begin!”) premiered on 24 November 1968 at Minerva Theatre. The play is shorn of overt propaganda in favour of any political ideal. However, an intelligent reading reveals the astute analogy drawn to the political climate of India around the Sino-Indian war of 1962. The play exposes the real nature of pseudo-patriots who use nationalism as a bait to exploit the working class. The inherent value in the noble ideals of patriotism can never be doubted. This makes it easy for the bourgeoisie to ensure that the poor, unsuspecting people fall prey to the clarion call to save their motherland. The commencement of war is advantageous to the local businessmen who, in unholy nexus with the ruling class, are able to maximize their profit in such a situation. The possibility of struggle against a foreign aggressor also serves to neutralize threats of internal dissent. Thus, war-mongering suits the ruling class. In his Marxist reading of intricate social connections in this play, Dutt brilliantly captures the real cause for the woe of the masses. The poverty that they suffer is not a consequence of lack of resources. The unequal distribution of assets by the capitalist state and the hoarding of privileges by the elite class ensure their pitiable condition. Yuddhang Dehi is set in Magadha during the reign of the Gupta emperor Kumaragupta I (AD 415–455). The Huns are said to have attacked the northern boundaries of the empire. Dutt reinterprets the historical sequence of events to examine the role of the Aryan ruling class in the war. We find Devadatta, the minister of Magadha, plotting with representatives of various neighbouring kingdoms to strike a deal where both parties commit to participate in planned warfare. The duration of the war is decided beforehand, and steps are taken to ensure that the ruling class on either side will not be endangered in any way. The hapless foot-soldiers, consisting 33

For valuable comments on Tir, see Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, 29 and 76; and James V. Hatch, “The Communist Theatre and Utpal Dutt”, The Statesman, 21 November 1981.

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mainly the Sudras, will die in what they would believe to be an attempt to save their motherland. This will lend an opportunity to the rich businessmen of Magadha to escalate the prices of daily necessities as well as equipment required by soldiers, using the war as an alibi. The ruling class, of course, will enjoy its share of the profit. Devadatta is also aware of the rising disenchantment in the subjects. He fears that a revolution might not be too far away. A war will serve to diffuse any such possibility. Thus, he does not hesitate to ruthlessly sacrifice the lives of hundreds of subjects in order to safeguard the interests of a minute cross section of the population. The Aryan Hindus make use of religion, especially the caste system, to maintain the existing status-quo in society. The exploitation of the Sudras is facilitated by making these illiterate folk believe that their disenfranchised position is in accordance with the immutable laws of nature. Thus, their minds veer away from thoughts of rebellion. Who, after all, would pick up arms against the word of God? Matangacharya, the royal priest, categorically states that there are only two ‘nations’ in Magadha: one that belongs to the rich and the other that belongs to the poor. Religion cannot hope to survive without material assets.34 In a conversation with representatives of the ruling class, he explains to Hiranyamayuraksha—the chief of the armed forces—that a war alone can restore his monetary gains. Ironically, he is a Brahmin priest who is supposed to dedicate his life to the service of God, without any inclination towards materialism. He has no qualms in using religion as capital to maximize profit and blames the Buddhist Vajrasena for popularizing a lack of faith in institutional Hinduism among Sudras. This has reduced their participation in pilgrimages which, in turn, has greatly reduced his income from this activity. The actual cause of his staunch opposition to Vajrasena’s teachings is, thus, commercial in nature. His religious convictions have no role to play. Vajrasena’s merciless public execution serves to reiterate the lack of honesty and courage that characterizes the Hindu Aryans. The Brahmins have no counter-narrative to Vajrasena’s logical, simple, and honest arguments. They are aware that the disenfranchised Buddhist priest represents truth and courage that has the potential to challenge the fundamental basis of their domination, which rests on deceit and exploitation in the camouflage of religion. They have no alternative but to forcefully obliterate him from the public eye. They do not even hesitate to burn the Bhavishya Purana scripture as some of its arguments are identical to the lessons of equality and benevolence that Vajrasena preaches. The Hindus simply make use of religion to serve their own needs. In contrast, the Buddhist priest’s teachings are meant to empower the populace rather than imprison them in an atmosphere of fear and self-doubt. Religion, in its purest manifestation, is meant to strengthen our inner spirit and awaken our latent humanistic impulses towards our fellow beings. It is not surprising that Vajrasena earns the respect of the poor Sudras. The role of Vajrasena also serves to question naïve popular perception of an absolute opposition between religion and communist principles. The religion that the Hindus follow is no more than a corrupt attempt to justify the subhuman treatment meted out to the proletariat. A socialist uprising must strive to uproot such practices. Religion, in its true sense, as exemplified in the teachings of Vajrasena, 34

See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 4, 292 onwards.

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preaches equality and fraternity. These are the very ideals that communism strives to achieve. The manner in which the Sudra rebellion is stifled disturbs the audience. The royals, including the priest, take recourse to lies and deceit to mislead the inexperienced workers. Matangacharya uses his assumed superiority as a Brahmin to convince the Sudras of the impending wrath of God, in case they harm a member of the upper caste. It is a sin on the part of the lower class to rise up in arms against the higher classes. Caste divisions, supposedly sanctioned by religion, are adroitly used to perpetuate economic exploitation of the hapless proletarians. The priest is all but successful in dissuading the rebels from harming him. In an apparently ridiculous scene, Hiranyamayuraksha emerges out of his hiding place (inside a large box) at an inappropriate moment to find himself surrounded by armed rebels. The lies of the priest are exposed, and the rebels realign themselves to strike against the royals. They lack strategic expertise owing to their inexperience. The priest is shrewd enough to make best use of such indecision. He entices the rebels to participate in negotiations with the ruling class. As the rebels are absorbed in food and drink that have been served to them as bait, the other royals storm into the tent with soldiers borrowed from their Kusana and Saka allies. The Aryan Hindus of Magadha had instigated the Sudras to fight on grounds of patriotism. Now, they do not hesitate to seek the help of foreign armies to massacre their own soldiers. The rebels are defeated at the end, but they are richer in knowledge and experience. The play ends on a note of optimism where Dutt hopes that future generations of rebels will be enlightened enough to see through the hypocrisy and deceit of the capitalist class. Benga, one of the Sudras, deserves special attention. Apparently a ‘non-entity’ (as described in the Dramatis Personae), he understands the motives of the royals well enough. During the rebellion, he insists that the enemy must be annihilated. There is no scope for a compromise with the upper classes. In an apparently comic vein, he keeps reminding his compatriots that a rebellion cannot stop before the enemy has been completely destroyed. His opinion is labelled radical and Buddhist in nature. Earlier, we find him presenting a counterpoint to Vajrasena’s teachings. The Buddhist priest preaches equality and claims that in an ideal world, there should be no class division. Benga identifies the naiveté inherent in such an assurance. The economic privilege that the upper-caste Hindus enjoy serves to perpetuate their superiority. This gap can never be breached. The only viable option before the proletariat is to try and overturn the existing order: they must use force to snatch away rights and privileges which are lawfully theirs. Another important marker of the impact of Dutt’s Marxist consciousness on Yuddhang Dehi is his style. He talks about contemporary political events disguised in the garb of an ancient historical tale. This reminds us not just of Brecht’s method of alienation but also of Jatra, where episodes from the epics and scriptures or historical events are used as metaphors to discuss events of contemporary interest. The audience is well acquainted with this popular technique and is readily able to make the necessary connections across several centuries in order to grasp the inherent idea. Yuddhang Dehi succeeds on these lines. Dutt also makes a noticeable attempt to include humorous dialogue, which is one of his trademarks. Hiranyamayuraksha

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is especially susceptible to making a fool of himself. He behaves like a schoolboy, smiles at inappropriate places, speaks gibberish, and even lets his lower garment slip down from his waist on a couple of occasions. The dramatist ensures that the character appears ludicrously incapable of shouldering the responsibilities thrust upon him as an administrator of Magadha. It is not difficult to imagine raucous laughter in the playhouse every time the character appeared on stage. Dutt makes a conscious effort to capture the attention of the general public by introducing such a character in an otherwise tragic play. Yuddhang Dehi succeeds as political theatre precisely where Ajeya Vietnam or Tir fails: the dramatist does not try too hard to arouse the anger of the audience and make them hate his political adversary. However, in the garb of entertainment, he puts together an analysis of a socialist rebellion. We learn of the shrewd techniques that the ruling class generally employs to perpetuate the socioeconomic exploitation of the proletariat. Dutt dramatizes the forging of unity among the rebels, and later, as the rebellion is attempted, he warns us of the pitfalls involved therein. The mature ending of the play does not show a sudden overturning of social order. The rebels fail in their attempt to snatch away power from the ruling class. Yet, their experience gained in failure enriches them for future endeavours, where they are likely to succeed. As political theatre, this is a more convincing portrayal of the gradual transition of social order. Yuddhang Dehi captivates our attention with its politically provocative subject matter that is presented with adroit subtlety in style. Some of Dutt’s plays explore the possibility of spreading political education among the masses through individuals who seem to be no more than commoners, without any specialized knowledge in the field. The Jatra script Son re Malik (Hear, O Owner!), first performed in 1969 at the Tollygunge Agragami sporting ground, speaks of the plight of poor villagers hoodwinked into believing the capitalist narrative of foreign aggression jeopardizing the sovereignty of India. It was performed at a time when the memories of the Sino-Indian War of 1962 and the Indo-Pak War of 1965 were still fresh in the minds of all Indians. A severe food crisis also hit the villages of Bengal in 1965–66. The communists alleged that the crisis was engineered by state agents, functioning in partnership with capitalists who hoarded food grain in order to create an artificial shortage that would lead to steep escalation in price. We have seen how Dutt treated this very theme in his street play Samajtantrik Chal (1965). The Food Rebellion of 1966, led by the communists, played a pivotal role in mobilizing popular sentiment in favour of an armed uprising against the ruling class. The politics of armed insurrection seemed to gain further ground when the Naxalbari movement sparked off a year later. In our discussion of Tir, it has been pointed out that Dutt was at this time veering towards an ultra-left ideology. Son re Malik, along with Tir, bears evidence of his political commitment at the time. Son re Malik opens with a scene where the village folk are confronted by a team comprising a colonel of the Indian Army, the union leader of the workers of the local iron and steel factory, the owner of the factory, and leaders representing the incumbent government, among others. They indulge in aggressive propaganda and inspire the villagers to join hands in the patriotic struggle against foreign aggressors. Almost all the villagers are immediately taken in by the patriotic fervour and readily agree to donate whatever they can, in

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spite of their limited means. One of the villagers, Prasanta, does not agree to fall in line. Right from the outset, he attacks the bourgeoisie. He feels the war is merely a plea for the ruling class to facilitate exploitation of the workers and peasants: Whenever we demand food, clothes, or our legitimate rights, there is a threat to national security! The country is in jeopardy! This is your [the capitalist class] conspiracy.35

Prasanta’s analysis of events seems to be flawless in terms of his rational use of logic. His opinions reflect those of the communists at that time. Throughout Son re Malik, he shows remarkable understanding of Marxist ideas in his criticism of the Congress government and the capitalist class who join hands with the government for mutual benefit. However, the characterization does not appear convincing. Dutt does not account for the source of Prasanta’s advanced political education. He appears to be one of the poor villagers who struggle to make both ends meet and have only a vague, idealized notion of patriotism. Yet, his understanding of the politics of class is remarkably advanced in comparison with his peers. Dutt does not add shades of complexity to the intuitive character. Neither is the means of his political education dramatized. Unless it is sheer intelligence, this makes Prasanta seem a gross misfit in his own sociocultural milieu. In contrast, the response of the other villagers to the situation seems believable. Patriotism is an emotion that unites people across barriers of class or economic status. It is only natural for the poor peasants and workers of Birganj to be taken in by the words of the colonel. They are ready to protect their motherland at all costs. Prasanta’s mother—herself the widow of a martyr for the cause of Independence—is the first person to contribute personnel to the army as she sends her younger son Susanta to fight for the country. Dutt exposes the corrupt nature of the government, which does not hesitate to smuggle essential rations meant for soldiers into the black market. The other villagers realize the truth in Prasanta’s claims only at the end. A particularly poignant scene demands our special attention. Susanta is confronted by a soldier fighting for Pakistan on the battlefield. He discovers that his ‘enemy’ is a Bengali from East Pakistan, who speaks the same language, shares the same dreams, and reveres Tagore, just as he does. They realize that there is no ground for enmity between them. Politicians on either side, like the erstwhile British masters, have engineered differences between brothers in order to suit their selfish needs. As he hears the platoon approaching, Susanta stabs Jajbar (the opposing soldier) almost in spite of himself. The rhetoric of hatred for the enemy is so ingrained in the minds of these soldiers that they tend to lose their basic human instincts and become slaughter machines. Dutt’s Marxist consciousness makes it imperative for him to end Son re Malik in such a fashion that an armed insurrection against the bourgeoisie seems imminent. He must convince the audience of the radical transformations necessary in all major characters (except Prasanta). As discussed above, most of the villagers believe in the patriotic fervour engendered by their superiors. Dutt takes recourse to a strategy that reappears in many of his plays, as we shall later in this book. We find the major characters suffering personal loss, which shocks them to their senses. Susanta faces 35

Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 2 (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1994), 444.

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the death of his much-loved sister-in-law Reba, who is shot by the approaching army as they attempt to surround the villagers. All of a sudden, he seems to have realized that patriotism has been turned into capital and the war is only an excuse to facilitate further exploitation of the working class. This sudden alteration in perspective appears far-fetched. Susanta speaks exactly like his elder brother whose advice he had dismissed earlier. Instead of provoking his spectators to think, Dutt plays an emotional card before them. Susanta’s transformation is affected by his heart and not by his intellect. Events of grim, personal tragedy might momentarily succeed in winning over the likes of Susanta to the side of the proletarians. Dutt attempts to ensure emotional affiliation of the audience with Susanta. However, a proletarian rebellion will not become a realistic possibility till the workers and peasants are educated in the true sense of the term so that they enhance their understanding of complex sociopolitical phenomena. In this context, the characterization of Prasanta, too, is averse to the objectives of political theatre. Prasanta’s elevated political consciousness seems inherent in the character, rather than a result of in-depth understanding of life experiences. Such characterization conveys a negative message to the proletariat in that they have no hope to elevate their political consciousness through their own efforts. Rather, the few among them who are able to analyse complex social relationships must depend upon accidental merit and intelligence. Prasanta’s freakish intelligence exhibited in his perfect analysis of political situations might win him stray admirers, but it does not inspire others in his sociocultural milieu to attempt an understanding of society or politics. As a socialist rebellion (which is the ultimate end of political theatre) can only be constituted by the proletariat united as a class, Prasanta’s isolated glory actually hinders Dutt’s political objective. Dutt’s historical plays reflect the influence of his political outlook on his reading of history. His interpretation of events usually differs from popular beliefs. He forces viewers to reconsider their opinion of historical metanarratives and often comes up with alternative interpretations. Another Jatra script, Jalianwalabagh, based on the infamous British massacre of innocent Indian civilians at Jalianwala Bagh, Amritsar, on 13 April 1919, helps us understand his treatment of historical events. Jalianwalabagh was first produced by Satyambar Opera at Minerva Theatre in 1969. Dutt exposes the real motive of sections of the Congress party who were not in favour of an armed confrontation with the British. These pacifists, Dutt shows us, were traitors who planned to function in league with the imperialists to perpetuate the class dominance of the bourgeoisie even in independent India. To them, independence meant little more than a convenient contract with the British, whereby the upper class in power would lead a life of comfort at the cost of continued exploitation of the poorer sections of society. In contrast, another section of the Congress party, led by Saifuddin Kichlu, believed in armed rebellion as the only viable means to win absolute freedom. Dutt’s presentation of Resma in Jalianwalabagh is significant. She is ready to aid Kichlu at any cost, even if she has to sacrifice her honour, dignity, and faith of her near and dear ones. She does not hesitate to become Thomson’s kept-woman so that she may access vital information concerning British strategies

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of warfare.36 The real motive behind Resma’s operation is kept secret even from her husband, who, understandably, looks askance at her. Dutt suggests that the rebellion is more important than the life of an individual. All relationships, love for near and dear ones and even love for the self, have to be sacrificed for the sake of the greater cause if required. No rebellion can remain completely idealistic. The rebel fighters use a woman’s body as bait. Their actions are not idealistic per se. In defeating the shrewd British, they take recourse to various stratagems which are not always truthful or righteous. Kichlu understands that the only absolute ideal is commitment to the cause of Independence—the most suitable means justifies the end. The final act seems to be a forced addition. Dutt dramatizes a gathering in Caxton Hall, London, twenty-one years after the Jalianwala Bagh massacre. Sir Michael O’Dwyer, the governor of Punjab who endorsed Brigadier R. A. H. Dyer’s orders to open fire at the unarmed civilians without the slightest provocation, was present at the gathering along with Lesley Dane, among others. The freedom fighter Udham Singh, disguised as a student wanting to meet the retired governor, assassinates them. Udham shouts slogans in favour of armed rebellion even as he is arrested. This event, like most of the play, is historical in origin. An objective assessment leads us to question the validity of the ending as effective political theatre. Michael O’Dwyer—retired in 1940—had no active role in the British imperialist government. R. A. H. Dyer had died in 1928. It is difficult to determine in what way Udham’s actions aid the freedom struggle. Dutt seems anxious to hammer home his idea of political violence. The play itself, without the last act, carries enough evidence to advocate armed rebellion. Udham knew that the only certain consequence of his action would be his arrest and subsequent death sentence. Perhaps, he may have served the freedom struggle better by participating in armed uprisings against the British in India, as Independence was yet to be won. The cause of the nation seems to take a second seat here; it is the individual’s revenge and anger accumulated over twenty-one years that drives the action to its close. We have earlier noted in the case of Resma that an individual’s welfare may have to be sacrificed for the cause of the freedom struggle. This is a deviation from the fundamental guiding principle for rebels devoted to the cause of a political uprising; but perhaps it serves to strengthen the human nature of revolutionaries like Udham Singh. They, too, are made of flesh and blood and cannot stifle all their natural impulses. A paradigmatic shift in the Congress-dominated political climate had been predicted as early as 1967, when the United Front (comprising the communists, among other allies) defeated the Congress to assume power in West Bengal. Many of Dutt’s plays around this time present a different style of playwriting. In Leniner Dak (The Call of Lenin, 1969) or Barricade (1972), he seems to have come a long way from the militant preaching in Ajeya Vietnam or Tir. He was well aware of the innumerable obstacles that might appear in the path of the realization of the socialist ideal. One of his roles as a leftist intellectual was that he played the role of an anticipatory whistle-blower, who sought to speak to the communist leaders of the state through his theatre. He warned them of the various obstacles which might 36

See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 4, 1 onwards.

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stall the establishment of an ideal communist state and even presented before them historical instances which were examples worthy of emulation. In order to achieve his end, Dutt drew upon various episodes in world history, which transcend barriers of time or space and carry universal significance. He was ideologically aligned to the communists, but soon after they assumed power in West Bengal, a leftist intellectual of his calibre could not help but notice the manner in which the Left utopia was being betrayed. He could not directly comment against the communists because their political adversaries would then use his theatre to gain popular support, which he could never have allowed.37 So, in several plays from this time, Dutt resorted to studying historical precedents where he could identify, and thus, warn the Left in Bengal of the dangers and pitfalls that a nascent communist government is likely to face. Here, Dutt is not overly critical of the leftist establishment, but offers a kind of critique through history. We will now take a look a couple of such object lessons that Dutt put together. In Leniner Dak (first performed on 16 November 1969 at Minerva Theatre), Dutt eulogizes the legendary Bolshevik leader Vladimir Lenin. He chooses a short period in the life of Lenin (between January and June 1918) when the latter had to tackle the Czarist counter-revolutionary White Guards, foreign foes, as well as severe food shortage across Russia. Besides assimilating a kind of model for communist governance, Dutt also makes a conscious effort to portray the ideal communist leader in the figure of his protagonist. In a short introduction which precedes the play, he makes his sentimental attachment to the Bolshevik revolution evident.38 Dutt claims that the multifarious nature of Lenin’s iconic statesmanship makes it impossible to capture the essence of his character within the limited scope of a play. The dramatist’s pen has often stopped short in sheer awe of Lenin’s greatness. A close reading reveals that there has been no attempt to add layers of complexity to any of the characters. They seem to be one-dimensional, almost robotic machines working relentlessly for the cause of the proletariat. The protagonist, Lenin, hardly seems human. He works ceaselessly for the Party, with a cavalier disregard of his own health. He directs one of his associates, Comrade Theodorovich, to further reduce food rations of government employees like himself and allot the surplus to metallurgy workers who are reeling in undernourishment.39 Later, he expresses his strong disapproval at the decision of the Commissar Council to increase his salary by 300 rubles. Needless to say, these events elevate Lenin to the position of a quasi-deity of the proletariat, who readily sacrifices even his basic needs for the greater good. Dutt’s glorification of his hero results in an unconvincing portrayal of the protagonist. The viewer is led to almost worship Lenin rather than identify in him an astute

37

It must be emphasized here that Dutt, as a Marxist intellectual and practitioner of political theatre, did not do enough to warn his audience (or criticize the Left establishment when they deserved it) about the pitfalls inherent in the Left utopia. Some of these inconsistencies have been discussed in the final chapter of this book. 38 See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 4, 95. 39 Ibid.,100 onwards.

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political leader of the masses. Like we saw in case of the characterization of Prasanta in Son Re Ma¯lik, Dutt’s characterization of the protagonist in Leniner Dak hinders the realization of his political objective. The portrayal of Lenin as an infallible, idealized hero, does little to invite intense scrutiny of the audience regarding the socioeconomic conditions that engender a revolutionary leader. Rather, the proletarian audience may actually think that, in order to successfully lead a socialist rebellion, one needs certain inherent superhuman abilities, similar to the ones that Dutt shows his protagonist to possess. As a result, they may be moved to wait passively (rather than actively organize themselves into a potent revolutionary force) for the arrival of a divinely blessed leader among them who will somehow lead them into rebellion in spite of their shortcomings. In the first scene, we find Lenin’s associate at the Kremlin, Comrade Lydia, being chastised for placing a carpet in Lenin’s room. Lydia, aware of Lenin’s susceptibility to the cold climate, had placed the warm carpet (which she had found lying abandoned) in the room. Lenin directs her to remove the carpet, proclaiming that there is fire under their feet. So, they do not need to ape the lifestyle of the aristocrats. We are left to ponder whether using an old carpet to keep one’s feet warm in the freezing temperatures of Moscow qualifies as aristocratic lifestyle. The dramatist engineers a situation merely to suit his predecided end of forcing words of great self-sacrifice and valour into the mouth of his hero. Such instances serve to distance Lenin from the proletarian audience and abandon him to the solitude of greatness. Dutt falls prey to an inclination among practitioners of political theatre to oversimplify their heroes. Dutt’s portrayal of Lenin in a later play dedicated to the life of the Bolshevik leader, Lenin Kothay? (Where Is Lenin?, 1976), appears to be more convincing in this regard. Here, he does not deify Lenin. We find a character of flesh and blood, ready to stoop to any level to ensure the success of the rebellion. He does not hesitate to hoodwink his adversaries at the drop of a hat. A notable instance is his using the railway workers to shunt a train full of counter-revolutionary armed personnel towards the Baltic coast instead of its scheduled route towards Petrograd. Here, Lenin is far from the impeccable hero whom we met in Leniner Dak. Dutt’s understanding of religion in Leniner Dak deserves special attention. Religion, as popularly understood, has no place in a communist’s materialistic worldview. The unscrupulous priest Aphanasi uses religion to stoke the centuries-old prejudices in the minds of the unsuspecting commoners of Chiraskaya village. As an agent of the White Guards, he is aware of the fact that the villagers need to be doped with religion so that they resign themselves to fate. He prescribes a way of life completely shorn of any meaningful activity. Such a surrender of one’s own life to God would take them closer to their Maker. The illiterate village folk are initially taken in by his dubious methods. Aphanasi even attempts to poison Marina to death in order to prove the validity of his claims. He tries to convince the villagers that the innocent girl is being taken by the Devil to serve damnation in hell. At this juncture, two villagers, Akulina and Doctor Sergei, step in to save Marina. Sergei discovers that Marina has been poisoned by Aphanasi. Akulina plays on Marina’s love for Anton to rejuvenate her spirits. They are able to work wonders on Marina, whose zest for life had evaporated owing to the priest’s willful misrepresentation of facts and her

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own accumulated religious prejudices. Her love for Anton is a force strong enough to allow her to break through these prejudices and be illuminated in the true sense of the term. Following Anton’s tragic death, she moulds this faith into hatred for her class enemy. The innocuous village girl is transformed into a feared revolutionary. Thus, the real purpose of organized religion is exposed. Often, it works as a potent weapon in the hands of the bourgeoisie to prevent the proletariat from waking up from their stupor and demanding their rights and privileges. Marx’s notion of religion being the opium of the people is vindicated. Faith, on the other hand, is seen as latent power which aids our inner strength. Absolute opposition between a communist’s worldview and religion is only a naïve understanding of truth. Religion, in the true sense of the term, is meant to engender feelings of universal fraternity and love. This is also what a communist society intends to achieve, though without belief in Godhead. However, religion, as it is popularly practised in a backward community, (like Chiraskaya village) only serves to spiritually weaken the proletariat. The likes of Aphanasi must be destroyed to ensure a society based on principles of equality. The opposition between democratic and authoritarian forms of governance is often not just a tussle for political supremacy. As common citizens are not directly associated with either faction, we might live in smug complacence, imagining that such a struggle does not concern our daily lives. In Dutt’s opinion, this is especially true of intellectuals who feel that they will be able to indulge their ‘elevated’ pursuits without having to bother about political struggle. They are rudely shocked when they discover that the attacks on the communists as upholders of democracy are only a prelude to brutal coercions imposed on all sections of society. As conscious citizens, we cannot run away from the ‘dirty businesses’ of active politics, paving the way for hoodlums to assume power and exhibit their political clout. We are expected to make informed political choices as our political conscience is inextricably intertwined with our urge for a decent life. In Barricade, Dutt uses the example of Germany in the 1930s to educate us of the vicious results of being politically inert. Barricade, adapted from Jan Petersen’s Unsere Strasse, was first performed on 25 December 1972 at Kala Mandir, Calcutta. The political climate of contemporary Bengal was far from peaceful. The regular instances of political turmoil in the state during Siddhartha Sankar Ray’s tenure as Chief Minister seemed to herald the onset of emergency, which was formally declared by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in 1975. Charges of forcefully silencing all political opponents were gaining support against the incumbent Congress government. The gruesome murder of the popular Forward Bloc (a leftist party) leader Hemanta Kumar Basu on 20 February 1971 was undoubtedly the most sensational political murder in decades. The unprecedented mudslinging between the Congress and the Communists on this issue is readily identifiable in the similar political blame-game of the Communists and the Nazis in the play. The impact of the Naxalite movement, along with the influx of refugees from East Bengal during the Bangladesh War of Liberation, had considerably destabilized

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the political climate of West Bengal during the early seventies. The alleged misappropriations of the Congress during the 1972 West Bengal Legislative Assembly elections further poisoned the political climate.40 As we read Dutt’s descriptions of the Communist Party in Berlin being framed in the murder of the respected mass-leader Zauritz, we are able to connect Berlin and Calcutta across decades and geographical barriers.41 The dramatist’s decision to represent Berlin on stage was a smart one. It guaranteed some immunity to Dutt’s play in the coercive political climate of the seventies. Yet, the alert audience could easily identify similarity in events dramatized in Barricade to the political turmoil in their own society. Dutt’s adroit dramaturgy, too, helps the audience forge the necessary connections. He opens the play with a sutradha¯r—a readily identifiable feature borrowed from Jatra and other forms of Indian theatre. The prelude is set in contemporary Kolkata, following which the audience is transported to Berlin in the 1930s. Along with similarities to the Jatra form, Dutt’s dramaturgy also reminds the audience of Brecht’s Caucasian Chalk Circle, where, too, a prologue set in contemporary times precedes an ancient parable. Dutt’s political motivation in choosing such dramaturgy is similar to Brecht’s in Caucasian Chalk Circle: the dramatists seek to inspire their audiences to reflect on contemporary politics through the narration of tales chosen from another time in history. Barricade drew fierce political reactions. Dutt’s intended target was quite evident. However, it was not just the Congress which opposed Dutt’s play. Even the Communist Party of India (CPI—the oldest Communist Party in the country, from which the CPI(M) split as an independent party in 1964) resisted a performance of Barricade scheduled on 31 May 1973 as part of the State Youth Festival.42 Barricade opens with a prelude where the stage manager (a local worker) impresses upon his colleague the need to appreciate the similarity in interests of workers across the globe. Communist parties around the world fight to protect the rights of all workers, irrespective of nationality. The stage manager then introduces the primary characters to the audience. All of them emphasize the fact that they are established in their respective fields and determined to stay away from the direct political confrontations that plague Berlin. They seem to frown upon politics and claim that it has no place in their intellectual pursuits.43 Ingeborg Zauritz, a simple homemaker, echoes the words of these intellectuals. The intelligentsia, as well as large sections of commoners in Germany, felt that the rise of Nazism and the coercion of all political opposition to the Nazis did not directly affect their daily lives. 40

Ananda Lal’s recent translation of Barricade carries a valuable analysis of its political backdrop. See Utpal Dutt, Barricade, trans. Ananda Lal (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2021), Introduction. 41 Dutt also translated Friedrich Wolf’s play Professor Mamlock (1933) into Bengali. The play shares the thematic concerns of Barricade. Hans Mamlock, the title-character, tries his best not to allow politics to meddle with his noble profession of providing healthcare to the needy. Like Justice Voss or Doctor Strubbel in Barricade, he is ultimately forced to acknowledge the all-encompassing ill-effects of the politics of hatred that the Nazis engender. However, I have limited my analyses in this book to Dutt’s original works. 42 Sova Sen discusses the issue. See her Smarane Bismarane, 115. 43 See Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1997), 221 onwards.

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They could afford to close themselves up in their own houses and hope that the political storm raging on the streets of Berlin would pass over without affecting them. This, of course, was a gross error of judgement on their part. History bears witness to the heavy price they were forced to pay in the form of the rise of Adolf Hitler. Marx, in his idea of alienation, explained that man is progressively alienated from all his instincts (except that of possession) in a capitalist society. He begins to isolate himself from the world around him and live in a virtual island of his own creation. Such a transformation serves the interests of the bourgeoisie as it is easier for them to tackle the disunited force of alienated working-class people. The representatives of German society in Barricade seem to be alienated from their own world in this sense. Heinrich Landt, the editor and owner of the newspaper Freie Zeitung, claims that his newspaper is non-partisan and devoted to its pursuit of truth. However, his actions prove contrary to his words. In the Zauritz murder case, he pronounces the communists guilty even before the trial begins. He indulges in mindless, and often ridiculous, misrepresentation of facts in order to prove his point. As Otto, the reporter for Freie Zeitung, points out, the change in Landt’s nature appears too stark to believe. Earlier, he used to pride himself upon the fact that he is not intimidated by anyone when it comes to his search for truth. He was an inspiration to all his colleagues. Now he seems no better than a shameless agent of the Nazis, whose sole objective is to jeopardize the communists at any cost. Once Otto’s investigation proves the innocence of Richard Huettig (the Communist Party leader) beyond reasonable doubt, he is forced to confess to his colleague. During the First World War, he had given away secret information that might have compromised national security to the American government in return of money. The Nazis have laid their hands on these secret papers and use them to blackmail Landt. He must either indulge in propaganda against the communists or run the risk of being arrested on charges of sedition. Dutt suggests that courage to stand against misdeeds, even if one’s adversary is powerful, stems from righteousness. The Nazis leave no stone unturned to turn falsehood into truth. They are able to target Landt only because he is morally culpable. Otto, on the other hand, is able to muster courage to stand against Nazi propaganda because of his inherent honesty. The judge, Albert Voss, realizes the extent of Nazi dominance towards the end. Following Otto’s investigation, he re-examines the entire case to deduce correctly that Huettig had been framed. He expresses his design of proclaiming Huettig innocent in court. To his utter dismay, the Nazi leader Lippert tells him that Huettig has been taken into custody under a special State Security Act, which allows no room for trial. Thus, he can no longer be released in spite of the judiciary proclaiming his innocence. Voss is left with no option but to ineffectually condemn such an infringement on the autonomy of the judiciary. He realizes the inconsequential nature of justice in an authoritarian state. His predicament is representative of that of the German intelligentsia who fooled themselves into thinking that the rise of the Nazis to prominence would not affect them, until it was too late to rectify their errors. The doctor, Hermann Strubbel, spends most of his time in intellectual pursuits as he claims in the opening scene. He is insistent on not having a political opinion

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because, according to him, any political stand is a potential cause for trouble in Berlin. He strives to remain above the quagmire of political struggle. Like Justice Voss, he arrives at the rude realization that authoritarian state machinery does not allow room for non-commitment. In order to survive in peace in Berlin, one must become a stooge of the Nazis. At the end, he suffers pangs of self-castigation as an intellectual. He realizes that his dedicated reading of Marx or Schopenhauer would have no significant value if he chose to compromise his dignity for fear of the Nazis. He joins the barricade of protesters who take up arms against the reign of terror unleashed by the Nazis, in spite of being certain of imminent death. Ingeborg Zauritz, the widow of the leader whose murder triggers the plot, rectifies her mistaken assessment of the case towards the end. As a devout Catholic, she believes in the ineluctable purity of life. Naturally, she is alienated from the worldview of the communists who believe in armed rebellion for the sake of the working class. She does not see eye to eye even with her adopted son, Paul Schall, once he joins the communists. The Nazis take advantage of the poor widow’s naïve outlook and present her as a decisive witness against Huettig. Zauritz transforms her understanding once she experiences the duplicity of the Nazis first-hand. In their insane urge to purge Germany of all opposition, they resort to illegal arrest and murder of political adversaries. They do not even spare Paul Schall, whose mother is a prima facie witness in the case that aids their political propaganda. Schall’s arrest warrant awakens Zauritz to the fact that the Nazis only care for their own political gains and can stoop to any level in order to grind their axe. Schall is soon murdered by the state agents in spite of his innocence being proved. A play with a definite political motivation like Barricade perhaps cannot afford to be particularly subtle. It is aggressive and loud in its approach. The action does not leave room for any interpretation on the part of the audience—it is explicit in nature. The private reflections of characters are secondary in importance to the complex working of the system which traps these individuals. Even in the courtroom scenes, the witnesses face the audience directly, with the judge facing the witness. So, there is no scope to express finer nuances of thought through subtle facial gestures or expressions. The intensity and success of such a play depend almost entirely on tremendous coordination of various elements in performance. Though Barricade was written to apparently criticize the Nazis, it was ruthlessly condemned in some contemporary reviews. Surprisingly, some of these reviews were carried in magazines/journals known to have a Marxist orientation. The Marxist theatre monthly Abhinay carried a particularly scathing review of the play in its September–October 1972 issue. Dutt was called a ‘babu intellectual’, a ‘theatreindustrialist’, and the fact that he was a professional theatre artist was irreverently compared to prostitution in the title of the review.44 The major allegation presented against Dutt was that the German communists he portrays in the play are not idealistic enough, as they seem keen to capture political power (by participating against the Nazis in several elections and re-elections). The dramatist was advised to worry 44

See “Bhra¯nta Buddhir Ganana¯tya – Ganika¯brittir Barricade”, Abhinay, September–October 1972, 1647 onwards.

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about the exploited populace in his own country, rather than portray German history from the 1930s. An article carried in Na¯tya Prasanga alleged that Barricade does not pay attention to Indian working-class rebels. The play was called ‘counterrevolutionary’ and ‘revisionist’.45 Though these articles raise several objections, an alert reading reveals that they are more interested in attacking Dutt personally rather than discussing Barricade. One may see these documents as records of infighting within communist circles, where, quite often, the identity and ‘commitment’ of creative artists were bones of contention, eclipsing discussion of creative works. The unique edge of Barricade at its inception was the implied assault on the Congress government in West Bengal. Once the political situation altered, the audience did not watch it with similar intensity or anger as they did during its original run. A political allegory like Barricade thrives on topicality. Yet, this very specificity might turn out to be its greatest limitation in the long run. We must not, however, mistakenly believe that Barricade has no contemporary relevance. On the contrary, the modus operandi of fascist forces that Dutt portrays in Barricade must be closely studied as warning that might help us prevent the repetition of history. In Barricade, Dutt dramatizes the stages of development in the political consciousness of his principal characters, who ultimately unite to oppose the ruling class, rather than presenting the audience with divinely ordained leaders. The smugness of the judge and the doctor believably transforms into realization about the inevitability of participation in political struggle against one’s oppressors. Similarly, the initial lack of political maturity in Ingeborg identifies her with the proletariat. That she is able to gather enough courage at the end to join the barricade, inspires the commoner to not only escalate his political consciousness, but also place confidence in his ability to meaningfully aid the revolutionary effort. Barricade becomes an enduring document of protest: the political coercion in Bengal in the seventies reminded Dutt’s contemporary audience of Nazi Germany. An alert reading of Barricade today will force us to look at the prevalent political climate in India with fear. A recorded performance of Barricade has been analysed in the fourth chapter. Mahavidroha (The Great Rebellion) corroborates some of the ideas presented in Yuddhang Dehi. It is an edited version of Dutt’s earlier play Tota (The Bullet), which the PLT first performed in 1973 in New Delhi. The revised Mahavidroha premiered at Rabindra Sadan, Calcutta, in 1985. Here, Dutt does not talk about a single event or actively support a particular political agenda. He takes us back in time to a contentious phase of Indian history: the series of events surrounding the First War of Independence in 1857 and its ultimate failure. Most historical commentaries on this war present a handful of nationalist rebels in an unequal struggle against their British masters, and the latter’s military supremacy is seen as the principal cause of the failure of the rebellion. Dutt does not fall in line with the popular perception of the War of 1857 as a mutiny organized by a handful of rebels. As a Marxist dramatist, he presents an alternative reading of the sequence of events. The rebels failed as they were betrayed by the native bourgeoisie who feared that their 45

See Sudrak, “Utpal Dutter Barricade: Biplaber Madhye Pratibiplab”, Natya Prasanga, September 1973, 78 onwards.

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position of dominance would have vanished in the newly independent country, in case the rebellion succeeded. As a politically committed artist, Dutt’s engagement with historical events forced his audience to question the dominant versions of these narratives. The role played by the have-nots is never emphasized with due importance in historical grand narratives. Dutt reinterpreted historical events from the point of view of the proletariat, according them a distinctive position in the anti-imperial struggles. Mahavidroha, as a retelling of events of the 1857 War, is significant on several accounts. The rebellion was represented to the populace, especially by Western commentators, as a ghastly assault on the British, that did not differentiate between civilian British men and women and the East India Company. Racist, partisan ‘official’ accounts of the rebellion painted the Indian rebels as monsters who massacred English men and women indiscriminately. Dutt’s intervention is crucial in that he presents the rebellion as a just fight for rights organized by the Indian proletariat against the political and economic exploitation of the East India Company. As stated earlier, the original version of Maha¯vidroha—Tota¯ —premiered in 1973, when the Naxalite movement in Bengal was at its height. In this context, Dutt’s dramatization of the severe clamping down on the revolutionaries by the British would perhaps remind the audience of the government’s treatment of the Naxalite rebels. The Naxalites were perhaps misled in terms of their ideology, but the audience, through this association, would remember their rich tradition of powerful protests against rulers who seek to dominate and oppress.46 Dutt’s treatment of the subject not only challenges the established interpretation of the 1857 War, but also unites the masses by reminding them of their anti-imperial legacy. Printed versions of Mahavidroha carry Marx’s observations on the war where he had labelled it a nationalist struggle for freedom, and not a mere ‘sepoy mutiny’, as the British would like to believe.47 The opening scene shows an agent of the East India Company named Fraser and Lieutenant Hodson trying to coerce the native fabric-makers to raise the price of their linen. They realize that the imported cloth, upon the sale of which their profit is heavily dependent, is inferior in quality but more expensive. They must force the Indian workers to raise the price of native fabrics so that the people are left with no option but to buy the inferior British product at a comparatively lower rate. It is clear to the audience that the sole objective of the company is to maximize profit. The local fabric-maker, Budhan, tries his best to stand his ground. He claims it his inalienable right to decide the price of the cloth that he weaves. The British officers, in an act of astounding barbarity, decide to chop off his fingers to teach him a lesson. The reign of terror unleashed by the company is actually counterproductive as it allows the locals to rally behind Hira Singh in their united hatred of the British.

46

For a useful analysis of the historical significance of Maha¯vidroha, see Nandi Bhatia, “Staging the 1857 Mutiny as ‘The Great Rebellion’: Colonial History and Post-Colonial Interventions in Utpal Dutt’s ‘Mahavidroh’ “, Theatre Journal 51, no.2 (May 1999). 47 See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol.5, 286.

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It is, in fact, the betrayal by the Indian merchants which costs the rebels dearly. Like their English counterparts, these upper-class merchants have turned into moneyminting machines, devoid of all human emotions. Their only objective, too, is to maximize profit. They do not hesitate to cheat the rebel fighters, in spite of realizing that such actions will prove detrimental to the interest of their motherland. The warriors complain that they are being supplied adulterated ammunition. The bullets are filled, not with gunpowder, but sand. The guns they carry seem no better than sticks.48 The naiveté of the rebels prevents them from realizing the context of such a betrayal. They do not understand that they must fight on two fronts simultaneously: the India of their dreams will see the light of day only if the native capitalist class is obliterated along with the foreign aggressors. The failure of the Indian freedom struggle was not a simple story of surrender to military supremacy. Various agents operated within the country to ensure its doom. Sustained foreign dominance would further weaken the poor and marginalized sections of society, which would give the upper-class merchants an opportunity to maximize economic exploitation of the helpless working class. The capitalist class unabashedly placed their vested interests before the noble cause of freedom, thus paving the way for two centuries of brutal foreign rule. The role of Mirza Mughal (Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar’s son) in the rebellion deserves our attention. He is obsessed with class divisions. This makes it impossible for him to tolerate the growing prominence of the fabric-maker Hira Singh as a leader. He is well aware of the fact that Hira’s astute and fearless leadership is essential for the success of the rebellion. Yet, he plans to annihilate him so that his own position as a leader of the masses remains unchallenged. We find him confiding in the minister Asanulla that he wishes to kill Hira: Asanulla: Should we allow Hira Singh to rise to further prominence? All of Hindustan will soon shout slogans in his glory. The people have already replaced you with him as their messiah. Mirza: I feel like killing that lower-class brute of a fabric-maker … if only I could tie him to the wheels of a cannon and … ah! I can’t think unless I am intoxicated.49

In the seventh scene, Mirza Mughal betrays Hira Singh. This incident serves as a template for the audience to realize that India’s freedom struggle faced countless such obstacles, where patriotic allegiance to the cause of Independence was eclipsed by issues of money and class. Dutt’s Marxist analysis of the War of 1857 indicts the Indian bourgeoisie, who joined hands with the British to preserve their own class interests, for the defeat of the rebels. He carefully presents before us the dissensions within contemporary Indian society, where petty issues of class and caste prevented united resistance against British aggression. Dutt’s portrayal of the two women characters in Maha¯vidroha deserves special attention. He does not relegate Waziran or Kasturi to an insignificant position among 48 Ibid., 290 onwards. The play was translated into English by Dutt as The Great Rebellion (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 1986). However, I offer my own translation of the lines from the play quoted here. They are closer to the original Bengali text. 49 Ibid., 341.

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the male rebels. The social positions of the two women, especially that of the sex worker Waziran, challenge patriarchal constructions of ideal femininity. The prevalent nineteenth-century social discourse in India glorified women in just two roles— mother and wife. Waziran, as a sex worker, does not at all fit into this discourse of glorified femininity. Thus, Dutt, by according her a potent voice, ensures that we get a fresh perspective on the status and role of women in contemporary society. Waziran sharply questions the Indian soldiers over their caste and religious parochialism, which aids the British agenda of keeping them divided over these petty issues. The treatment meted out to her by the British officers brings to light the latter’s real nature and thus helps Dutt reverse the rhetoric which categorized the British as civilized men and the natives as ‘barbaric’. She assumes a position of central importance in the play as the dramatist presents his socioeconomic analysis of contemporary society through her. Mahavidroha also marks a change in Dutt’s style. In his earlier plays, Dutt had endeavoured to place the proletarians at the centre of attention. In plays like Angar (Coal, 1959, to be discussed in the fourth chapter), the proletariat, as a class, replaces the individual hero. In Mahavidroha, he realized that the plight of a lone character may, at times, prove to be a more effective description of the ills of society than the representation of a class. Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar is incapacitated not only by the several restrictions that the British impose upon his right to administer his own kingdom. He is a victim of his severe lack of confidence in his own worth as the titular head of the rebels. He seeks to run away from issues which threaten his position as the emperor instead of facing up to them boldly. When the rebels attempt to proclaim him as their king, he is already defeated in his mind. The British need to do no more than enact a foregone conclusion. The emperor stands for a nation which seems resigned to its doom. His callousness as a ruler is also evident in the failure of the leadership to unite the rebels. Incidents of disagreements among the rebels based on social prejudices show that the emperor has made no attempts to rally his subjects unitedly—in spite of their social differences—under the banner of absolute opposition to the British, who never face unified resistance as sections of the rebels have their own axe to grind. The ease with which the British thwart the rebellion is reflected in Bahadur Shah’s abject surrender.50 As we have seen in our discussion above, in Maha¯vidroha, Dutt rescued the War of 1857 from simplistic, binary analysis that saw in it no more than a conflict between powerful imperialists and a handful of ambitious rebels. He highlighted the roles of the lower classes—weavers, peasants, prostitutes, and untouchables—and even, women and other poor sections of society, in their proper social context. So, his reading of the 1857 War does not remain a mere analysis of historical events. It assumes great contemporary significance as many of the social power relations analysed by Dutt continue to plague post-colonial Indian society. The British may have left, but the manner of their exploitation of the lower classes is reflected in many of the actions of the Indian bourgeoisie today. The PLT played Mahavidroha with 50

On this, see Samik Bandyopadhyay, Introduction, The Great Rebellion, xii; and Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 38.

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great success in as many as seven cities during its East Germany tour in October 1985. After Ajeya Vietnam in 1967, this play earned Dutt further recognition in East Germany as a dramatist.51 Once the Left Front came to power in Bengal in 1977, an interesting situation presented itself before Dutt. His battle cries against the Congress in plays like Kallol (to be considered in the next chapter) had finally borne fruit as it had been ousted from power. At the same time, the usual anti-establishment stands that most of his plays thrived on ceased to be as significant as it was before the communist alliance’s ascension to power. His social awareness led him to probe allied issues concerning the functioning of proletarian governments. We will focus on Muktidiksha (A Lesson for Freedom), which exemplifies his attempt to educate the uninitiated reader in Marxist precepts. The Jatra play Muktidiksha focused on the rise and fall of the Paris Commune— the first Marxist government in history, formed at Paris in 1871. It was first performed on 12 August 1977 at Star Theatre, Calcutta. The Paris Commune was a subject of special interest for Dutt. He had earlier rendered Brecht’s play on the same topic, Die Tage Der Commune, into Bengali (Naya Jamana, “New Age”). Muktidiksha, as the title suggests, tutors Marxist precepts in governance. Dutt lays special emphasis on the precautions that need to be taken in order to ensure that the socialist form of governance, which has been achieved after an arduous struggle, can be sustained in spite of the evil schemes of the bourgeoisie. The audience is able to place the dramatist’s concern for the nascent socialist government in contemporary perspective: the newly formed Left Front government needed to guard itself against the scheming of reactionary forces. Dutt creates various dramatic moments with the sole intention of educating the audience about the inevitable complexities of sustaining a communist form of governance. There is no room for sympathy when it comes to dealing with the bourgeoisie: a proletarian rebellion is successful only after the capitalist class has been ruthlessly obliterated. These lessons might not appear particularly alluring to the educated, sophisticated reader, but such repetition of obvious facts is necessary for the uneducated working-class viewer who does not have the requisite experience in dealing with the situation at hand. One of the proletarian rebels, Claudette Grenoble, clarifies Dutt’s message for his viewers. She understands the intrigues of the reactionary government in Versailles. The usual sense of naiveté associated with an uneducated member of the working class does not seem to cloud her ability to see through the shrewd tactics of the ousted capitalists. When her comrades indulge in merrymaking after their resounding victory in the elections, she warns that the time is not ripe to rest on one’s laurels and celebrate. They have only managed to achieve a degree of freedom for the people of Paris; greater struggles lie ahead.52 She reminds her comrades that they cannot afford to be merciful in their treatment of the defeated capitalists. In her opinion, the Commune should arrest the erstwhile Prime Minister Charles Thiers and put him on trial at the earliest available opportunity. 51

In spite of its contemporary relevance, revivals of Maha¯vidroha did not meet with success. See Ananda Lal, “Politically correct tribute”, The Telegraph, 30 July 1999. 52 See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 470 onwards.

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She also proposes that the communards should waste no time in attacking Versailles. The reactionary government there has sheltered most of the Parisian elite and is actively aiding their attempt to recapture power in Paris. The communards cannot be certain of the longevity of their success if they allow their enemies even the slightest opportunity of accessing the means to facilitate retaliation. Versailles must fall so that the Paris Commune stands for long. Grenoble considers this endeavour even more important than ensuring food security for all citizens. Her comrades voice their opinion against such proposals, citing the Commune’s commitment to the peaceful establishment of law and order. They fail to realize that to ensure lasting peace the enemy must be massacred and not just defeated, even if such an endeavour seems contradictory to the Commune’s noble ideals of governance. Grenoble’s suggestions are not paid heed to, and the communards pay a heavy price for their innate goodness and simplicity. Grenoble is not entirely perfect in her strategizing. At times, she seems to overdo her commitment to martial principles. When Lacoste shows her a model of a school building that the Commune intends to build for the children of the workers and peasants, she feels it to be imperfect as there is no provision for training the kids in rifle-shooting. She claims that the libraries and other amenities of the proposed school are of secondary importance. The kids must be trained in warfare to enable them to stand up for their rights. The source of Grenoble’s elevated political consciousness is not established by the dramatist. So, the characterization does not inspire the proletarian audience to elevate their political consciousness. In fact, her overzealous commitment to martial principles (though validated at the end of the play) serves to alienate her from the audience. Dutt’s portrayal of the class enemy in Muktidiksha is influenced by his Marxist consciousness. He is well aware that the bourgeoisie presently enjoys a position of dominance, which is unlikely to be usurped by the proletariat any time soon. However, within the limited scope of the play, revolution must be seen as an imminent possibility and not merely a beacon of hope for future generations. In order to achieve this end, the monstrosity of the class enemy is pared down and he is made to look almost clownish. This ensures that the proletarian rebels do not live in dread of the inherent superiority of their enemies. Rather, they learn to laugh at the latter’s lack of courage and conviction. Dutt’s presentation of the erstwhile Prime Minister, Charles Thiers, must be seen in this light. In the opening scene, he exclaims that numerous outdoor election meetings have resulted in his catching a cold. Thus, he is unable to tolerate repartees made in a loud voice! Later, we find him offering cognac to his fellow conspirators, while he drinks only milk. This, in his understanding, will ensure that he lives a long, healthy life. Dutt seems to be trying too hard to ensure that Thiers appears ridiculous. The plot degenerates into banal issues (like the inane logic in choosing milk over cognac) as the dramatist attempts to drive this idea home. The incongruity in the presentation of Thiers in the opening scene and later sections is stark. Thiers’s spine-chilling role in the downfall of the Commune reminds the audience that his real nature bears no resemblance to the comical fool that Dutt presents at the beginning that there is a great danger in underestimating one’s enemy. The characterization of the ruthless police detective Albert Savinac is not free of this flaw either. As a secret agent of the ruling class, he has hunted down hundreds of

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communists and anarchists with ruthless professionalism. He seems to be a perfect embodiment of evil who revels in the fact that he has murdered countless innocent communists and their supporters in cold blood. Even Claudette acknowledges that she cannot be at peace till Savinac is brought to book. Savinac’s professional expertise, coupled with his evil nature which allows him to stoop to any level in order to achieve his end, induces fear in the communards. Dutt, however, seems a bit too eager to rob him of his deserved status. Savinac’s commitment to the destruction of the communards is presented as a symptom of his abnormal nature. He relishes descriptions of his previous employment as a professional slaughterer during the reign of Napoleon III. The daily routine of beheading people for money has triggered his desire or intense curiosity about human flesh. We find him ‘talking’ to his favourite set of murder weapons as if they were his children. He even chooses a unique name for each of his knives and salivates at the prospect of stabbing a hapless communist with one of them. Such mindless obsession with blood and murder points to an abnormal mind. However, Savinac’s cold-blooded murder of Hector Lafont after winning the latter’s trust, his plans to decimate the food storage in Paris, or his plan to poison food meant for schoolchildren, bear evidence of a mind that is able to plan flawlessly and, more often than not, his evil plans meet with resounding success. Thus, Savinac is a character to be feared. His apparent abnormality seems incongruous with the real nature of this uncompromising slaughter machine. Marxists have traditionally viewed religion with askance. The idea of an omniscient, omnipotent God does not fit into their materialistic worldview. However, Marxism does not dismiss religion itself, but disapproves of religious fanaticism. The opposition between Marxist ideology and religion in popular imagination is triggered by Karl Marx’s famous remark where he called religion “the opium of the people”.53 Marx referred to religion as a universal signifier of unity which allows people to express their hardships. It has a somnolent impact on our consciousness as it diverts attention away from the root causes of sorrow and misery in society and thus hinders our potential for self-emancipation.54 Dutt’s Janatar Aphim (The Opium of the People, 1991) borrows its title from Marx’s famous dictum. It critiques religious fanaticism and its blatant use by political stakeholders for the sake of power. Janatar Aphim was written (it premiered on 16 December 1991 at The Academy of Fine Arts, Calcutta) at a time when fundamentalism, aided by the rising popularity of right-wing religious activism supported by the Bharatiya Janata Party’s ideology, threatened the tradition of religious tolerance in India. Dutt’s words turned out to be prophetic in some sense, as the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya was demolished a year later (on 6 December 1992). In spite of its title, Dutt does not preach tenets of Marxism in Janatar Aphim. Yet, his satire hits at the core of religious fanaticism. Janatar Aphim is set in Mathura where a group of sadhus, led by Mahanta Somdev Acharya, decide that Krishna’s birthplace lies below the Jama Masjid. They hire 53 See Marx’s Introduction to A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right (1844). Marx never finished the book. However, the Introduction was published in 1844. 54 See Tom Bottomore, ed., A Dictionary Of Marxist Thought (Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishers, 1983), 465.

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Image 2.2 PLT’s Janatar Aphim (1992). The backdrop of Hanuman is distinctly visible. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

excavators, archaeologists, and reporters to lend credibility to their claim. The entire sequence of events is engineered to create a rift among the common people based on religion and thus aid the electoral campaign of parties that thrive on religious fanaticism (Image 2.2). Somdev ably leads the sadhus in his Math in terms of religious hypocrisy. He claims to be an ascetic devoted to God. Yet, he does not stop his followers when they force Kirorimal’s wife to offer all her gold ornaments at his feet.55 He uses the donations offered to the Math by devotees as capital for his transport business. Dutt exposes the vacuity of his knowledge of scriptures, too. Somdev claims to present the essence of the Vedas in each of his daily maxims. The naïve devotees cannot wait for him to finish his utterance before rolling at his feet in an abject show of servility. His ‘message’, however, is ridiculous. The fool may be fooled, the monkey eats fruits, the calf drinks milk.56

Somdev represents a type that we meet too often in India—a fake leader, who uses religion as a veil to hide his political ambitions. His apparent sympathy for Hindu religious sentiments is exposed as hypocritical when he spills the beans before the historian Badridatta Sharma and the archaeologist Manabendra Mallik: Somdev: Can I announce this? This is all I need before the election.57

55

See Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 7, (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1999), 507 onwards. Ibid., 508. 57 Ibid., 526. 56

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Kalavati, one of Somdev’s primary disciples, follows her mentor in all his evil enterprises. Like him, her apparent commitment to the Hindu religious cause is eyewash. In private circles, even Somdev criticizes her hypocrisy: Last year, she [Kalavati] had been to Delhi. She started a hunger strike to establish the claim that the Qutub Minar was built by Hindus. What publicity! Her photograph appeared on the front pages of all dailies. It was reported that her health condition had become critical. Actually, it was my responsibility to take parathas, sabji, a bowl of arhar dal and a big bowl of khir to her in the dead of night … Such is her courage.58

Kalavati publicizes an image that ensures her difference from others. She attempts to appear superhuman through facile tricks. She feigns hysteria, even claims that she is able to ‘see’ non-believers trying to pollute Krishna’s holy birthplace. Such an image instils awe in the minds of the uncritical devotees who flock to listen to her provocative speeches. They begin to believe her words, in spite of their lack of rationality. Dutt’s Marxist consciousness ensures that Kalavati is exposed as no better than a clown who deserves to be laughed at, rather than reverence. She steals caps of police officers on duty to prove that the rule of law cannot control her religious fervour. We are reminded of similar characteristics in Hiranyamayuraksha, the Aryan army chief in Yuddhang Dehi (discussed earlier). Capitalists like the rich Hindu businessman Kirorimal and the Muslim land owner Nausher Ali use religion as a façade for their vested interests. The petty divisions of religion or caste create strife between sections of the proletariat, thus, making it easier for the capitalist to continue exploiting the working class. Somdev announces that rich people have no religion: Somdev: He is Khan Saheb Nausher Ali. He owns 200 bighas of land in Mathura. The Barsana village, too, belongs to him. One who has so much wealth cannot be a non-believer. He is one of our principal sponsors. Kirorimal: The wealthy can never be non-believers, they have traditionally been considered high-caste Hindus.59

Kirorimal has no qualms to mix with a Muslim, as long as he is rich. But he sponsors the heinous attempt to exterminate thousands of Muslims who have lived in peace with their Hindu brothers and sisters for centuries. His interest in the Hindu religious cause, like Somdev’s or Kalavati’s, is hypocritical. He wants to ensure political gains for right-wing activists so that his interest as a capitalist is safeguarded. Nausher does not oppose the atrocities planned on Muslims by Somdev’s men. Like his friends at the Math, his only intention is to exploit poor Muslims in the area to fill his coffers. Dutt’s satire does not spare hypocrites from either religion: Nausher [addressing a crowd]: Jama Masjid! What Jama Masjid? I own that land. The Wakaph Board has not paid my rent for seven years. What sort of prayer hall is this where the capitalist is robbed of his money? … If you want to ensure peace and security for your country, burn Antapara. Reduce it to ashes.60 58

Ibid., 533. Ibid. 60 Ibid., 527. 59

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Dutt’s attempts to ensure mass appeal for his plays led him to create characters and episodes which are primarily meant to induce raucous laughter in the audience. In Janatar Aphim, he reduces the historian Badridatta Sharma to a buffoon on several occasions. Sharma is a professor of history at Banaras Hindu University, but he surrenders his knowledge and rationality to his ‘faith’. He claims that a Hindu’s belief is more important than historical or archaeological evidence. Sharma’s feeble eyesight makes it difficult for him to locate a place to sit. On several occasions, he ends up sitting on Somdev’s lap. Besides the obvious tomfoolery that such a scene is meant to cause on stage, Dutt suggests a metaphor. Like a helpless baby who keeps finding his mother’s lap for sanctuary, Sharma must now live as Somdev’s puppet. The erudite professor has abused his own profession for the sake of money and publicity by surrendering his intellect to aid shameless business in the name of religion. His hypothesis meant to locate Krishna’s birthplace under the Jama Masjid is ridiculously illogical. When the reporters ask him to speak louder, he sheepishly admits that even his students cannot hear his lectures. He is a professor of history, but cannot remember names of emperors, dynasties, or prominent historical figures. He calls Aryabhatta “Aryasastri” and opines that nuclear physics was introduced by him. Behind this laughable figure is hidden another face of Sharma. His urge for fame has driven him to a point where he does not hesitate to incite a crowd to riot. His provocative speech at the end reminds us of Kalavati and Nausher. His devilish nature is evident: A Hindu’s faith is more important than historical evidence … My heart says that a temple in ruins automatically proves that Muslims have destroyed it. A headless idol itself proves that a Muslim has decapitated it. There is no need for any other evidence.61

Unlike the illiterate men who roll at Somdev’s feet, the professor is a genuinely knowledgeable man. Dutt shows us that mere knowledge does not ensure humanity. Janatar Aphim, performed right at the end of Dutt’s career, is also a tribute to his unwavering courage. His commitment to a classless society, where a human being’s worth is not assessed in terms of the god he prays to, the wealth he possesses, or other superficial qualities, may not have borne fruit in his lifetime. Yet, as a committed artist, he tried to sensitize his audience. Dutt does not attempt to feign the identities of his intended political targets. There is no sophistry in his bold, unambiguous stand against organized religious fanaticism that is misused by political opportunists disguised as religious leaders. One wonders what would have been Dutt’s fate, had the play been performed in India today.62 We live in a world where religious intolerance often incites people to mass murder, or Hanuman’s ‘caste’ is debated in public domain by political leaders (incidentally, in the same state that Dutt’s play is set). Thus, Dutt’s message in Janatar Aphim continues to be relevant. In conclusion, we may safely assert that Dutt’s earnest belief in Marxist thought was pivotal in the growth of his artistic progress and achievement. His political convictions and his work in theatre were inextricably intertwined in a manner that 61 62

Ibid., 546. See Ananda Lal, “Comic master returns to form”, The Telegraph, 4 August 1992.

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each supported the other to develop. His keen political and social insight strengthened his commitment to the cause of the proletariat. He assessed historical events as well as those in contemporary society through the lens of the proletariat and thus accorded to that class a relevance that has been generally overlooked in traditional social discourses. His theatre was a unique cauldron where didacticism did not seem to be in opposition with entertainment. Though his intended political purpose adversely affected the aesthetics of his theatre at times (as we have seen in the case of Ajeya Vietnam or Tir), he continued his quest for revolutionary truth. Now that we have discussed the manner in which Dutt’s political and ideological convictions influenced his theatre, we will turn our attention to the influence of theoretical complexities of Marxism on specific aspects of his dramatic art in the following pages. In this light, we will study Dutt’s art of characterization in the next chapter.

Chapter 3

Characterization: An Exploration of Marxian Dialectics in Theatre

Authors gain immortality in their ability to make the modern reader think before registering a definite response to a character. As in life, ‘flat’ characters do not trigger our interest. In terms of morality, they are either too evil to deserve any sympathy, or too saintly to be believable. It is apparent that the author has designed a specific response to such characters. Most characters that we encounter in our daily lives represent unique blends of good and evil, making it impossible for us to love or hate them unconditionally. All iconic literary figures possess a similar trait. In drama, a character comes to life as it is presented on stage by an actor. This makes them different from their counterparts in literary genres. A successful characterization on stage depends on the confluence of three creative minds—the playwright’s, the director’s, and the actor’s. The varying nature of the audience’s response to a particular character makes the task of a modern actor more challenging. He must analyse the character that he is to impersonate and identify layers of complexity so as to generate the interest of the audience. The presentation of character on stage has evolved over the ages. Critical enquiries like Jean-Pierre Vernant’s The Origins of Greek Thought (1984) or Catherine Belsey’s Why Shakespeare? (2007) have established that various type characters dominated the stage during the early days of theatre. In modern drama, however, we find complex characterizations which present novel challenges before directors and actors. Over the ages, artists have tried various methods to overcome these challenges with aplomb. Dutt’s elaborate study of European and Indian theatre introduced him to other methods of characterization as well. He revered Stanislavski’s method of psychological realism. Stanislavski’s style, however, clashes with Marxist theory that stipulates characters must represent their socioeconomic class. We have seen in the previous chapter that Dutt’s style was deeply influenced by his political convictions. He was aware of this apparent opposition and attempted to resolve it in his assessment of Stanislavski’s method. In the essay “Stanislavskir Path” (Stanislavski’s method), he discusses the basic requirements for method acting.1 He highlights the necessity for 1

See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 240 onwards.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0_4

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a method actor to forget himself and become the character. Dutt’s own acting style, however, did not follow this method. He hardly ‘forgot’ himself on stage and often addressed the audience directly, as we shall see in our detailed analysis of his acting in the following chapter. We know that Stanislavski urged his actors to present on stage whatever they would have done in real life, had they actually been the character they are impersonating, under similar circumstances. However, an actor can only follow such a dictum in case his own personality is fully developed. Often, actors lack confidence in their ability to successfully carry the dramatist’s message to the large gathering in the playhouse. An actor who doubts his own potential is prone to silly stage businesses or overacting (that, he believes, will please the audience) rather than making the character his own. The confidence and inspiration that an actor requires to make adroit use of Stanislavski’s dictum may only be mastered through years of rigorous training, discipline, commitment, and dedicated study of one’s society. An actor ought to come up with nuanced performances by discovering novel complexities in the characters that he plays. Dutt shows how Stanislavski’s method directly clashes with Brecht’s Marxist theatre: Stanislavski is of the opinion that an ideal actor is able to include the entire audience in his circle of consciousness. Brecht’s actor does not believe in the “magic if”. He sees the theatre as it is. He comes to the stage and begins to address the audience immediately … Stanislavski’s Method makes actors recede into themselves … Brecht, in stark opposition, claims that the role of theatre is to make the audience conscious of the real world … Stanislavski’s circle of consciousness is designed to forget the audience … Such a method is suicidal in Brecht’s revolutionary theatre.2

In spite of obvious differences, Stanislavski’s method shares certain characteristics with revolutionary theatre. In order to pass into a character, Stanislavski prescribed for his actors a detailed study of the character’s identity, origin, and motivation behind actions.3 Such an endeavour is linked to a Marxist assessment of the character’s socioeconomic class. Our individual identity is influenced by our class and socioeconomic position. Thus, socioeconomic assessment of a character is of paramount importance before an actor approaches method acting. Further, there is significant methodological similarity in Stanislavski’s method and Brecht’s Epic Theatre. To aid preparation in terms of Stanislavski’s method, actors may divide their roles into smaller parts and concentrate on the nuances in each part separately. Brecht, too, presented separate aspects of his characters in different scenes of his Epic Theatre.4 The demands of psychological realism and Marxist socioeconomic approach to characterization may be contradictory, but both methods have been proved to be effective in reaching out to a large audience, which is the end of political theatre. Brecht’s and Stanislavski’s styles, then, are not necessarily opposed to each other. Rather, they are separate means to achieve the same objective. 2

Ibid. See David Magarshack, “Stanislavsky”, in Eric Bentley, ed., The Theory of the Modern Stage (New York: Applause, 1997), 219 onwards. 4 See Bertolt Brecht, “The Street Scene”, trans. John Willett, in The Theory of the Modern Stage, 85 onwards. 3

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From a Marxist point of view, the presence of immutable, ‘type’ characters represents the bourgeois’ understanding of realism. ‘Type’ characters gained prominence in theatre as the bourgeois believed that society was static and would never undergo any alteration to its structure. In life, there are no adequate labels to typify an individual. Dutt believed that the Marxian notion of dialectics serves as a definitive guiding principle for the actor, even though Marx did not present the idea of dialectics in the specific context of theatre.5 Dialectics, as applied by Dutt in his theatre, represents a scientific method of assessment of society, whereby it is believed that nothing in this world is static. Therefore, all characters in drama must partake of such dynamism and evolve continuously. They cannot be presented as still, ossified images. The application of dialectical principles to understand the workings of the human mind, however, predates Marx by several centuries. Dutt explains that philosophers in ancient Greece and ancient India originated the idea.6 Marx’s contribution to the idea lies in defining the nature of the constant transformation that characterizes all objects. He proposed that all objects are transforming to become their own opposite at all times. Two mutually contradictory strands coexist in all human beings, objects, as well as thought processes; which clash continually so that each of these elements transforms to become their own opposite.7 The most schizophrenic dramatic manifestation of this Marxist theory occurs in Brecht’s Herr Puntila und sein Knecht Matti (Puntila & His Man Matti, 1940). A character, though internally divided in this fashion, is represented in a unified form on stage. One’s manifest nature is influenced by different strands of emotion at different times, but the internal conflict within a character is never resolved. An adept actor is able to identify dormant manifestations of hatred as he plays an emotional scene of love, and vice versa. There is no readymade formula to ensure that the actor may represent contrary emotions with aplomb. Dutt advised prospective actors to train their minds so that they may perceive the dynamic nature of the world around them. An actor attempts to create an illusion of reality—the audience must feel that the situation being enacted on stage is a spontaneous occurrence and not a rehearsed episode. At the same time, the presence of the audience is a constant reminder to the actor that he is only playing a role in a plot which rests on imagination. Nothing in his dialogue or stage business is novel: his performance on stage is the culmination of a long and arduous process of careful rehearsal. He must feign complete independence on stage in spite of the imposed discipline of his act. He needs to saturate his attention in the character he is impersonating. Simultaneously, he must be conscious of associated paraphernalia like positions on stage, exits and entrances, light and sound, cues for dialogue, and so on. Thus, he must immerse himself in his part as well as look at it from an objective distance. Before distributing roles to various actors, a director attempts to determine the class identity of a character which helps him prescribe appropriate costume, 5

See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 205 onwards. Ibid., 207. 7 Dutt has explained this idea in great detail with various illustrative examples. See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 207 onwards. 6

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behaviour, or dialogue. He must also assess the character as an individual with his unique traits and quirks. All characters bear an individual identity in addition to their class identity. Dutt understood these issues as instances of the dialectical nature of theatre as an art form. A character may change even after it has been encapsulated within the covers of a book. A play, too, may ‘transform’ after it has been written by contemporizing itself in proximity with modern audience and actors. It may come to represent something entirely different from what was intended for its original audience. The role of the audience in a playhouse may also be understood dialectically. If an actor falls prey to the temptation of playing a role in a manner which, in his opinion, will make it easily intelligible to the multitude (and guarantee his popularity), he is unable to provide the audience with novel experiences beyond those of ordinary daily life or routine theatrical devices. Thus, he fails to trigger the audience’s deeper interest in the play. On the other hand, a skilled actor manages to keep the temptation of popularity aside. He concentrates on his assignment without conscious regard for the audience. The audience gets attracted to such an actor. As an actor ‘forgets’ the audience, he ensures their involvement and active participation in the dramatic process. Playing a character according to the principles of dialectics is no mean task. Perhaps it is impossible for any actor to perfect a balance of mutually contradictory emotions during rehearsals. He must embrace the challenge during each performance. As he breathes life into a character on stage, he discovers finer nuances that allow him to maintain a delicate balance of contraries. It may so happen that the emotion of love predominates over hatred during a particular performance; similarly, the emphasis might be overturned on another occasion. However, an actor trained in the principle of dialectics will never play a role which portrays absolute love or hatred to the exclusion of other contrary emotions. Such an artist invests his attention in the continuous search for sadness that is thinly veiled behind an effusion of elation, or happiness that is buried in apparent gloom. An actor trained to approach a role dialectically engages with his work creatively. He never completes stage business or delivers dialogue mechanically. He invests attention in identifying nuances in the character that he is to impersonate, rather than trying to impress an uncritical audience through typical theatrical gestures. Dutt believed that a politically committed dramatist needs to take special care in his portrayal of the working class.8 In an oppressive capitalist set-up, the personality of workers and peasants is not allowed to blossom as they are reduced to mere production machines. A socialist rebellion allows them an opportunity to break free from such a regime and create a new society where all aspects of one’s personality are allowed to develop. Such development does not only entail blossoming of characteristic features worthy of emulation. A worker, too, has his fair share of follies and foibles. Many dramatists, in their attempt to side with the proletariat, tend to romanticize these figures. One must represent a working-class figure in entirety, complete with all his faults. At the same time, his potential to participate decisively in future social revolutions must be highlighted in political theatre, along with his present state. Once 8

See Dutt, “Theatre As Weapon of Revolution”, 128 onwards.

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a dramatist is able to present his characters in such a manner, he begins to identify with the proletariat. His criticism, then, becomes a sympathetic assessment of his own virtual brotherhood. It does not degenerate into cynicism of the upper class towards members of the lower class. Dutt claims that he attempted to create a “new proletarian hero”: But what might be of interest to readers abroad is the attempts we are making to create the new proletarian hero, the worker-revolutionary and the peasant-revolutionary. The professional theatres in Calcutta and the petty-bourgeois groups in the city who stand squarely opposed to revolution, continually present the petty-bourgeois intellectual as the hero, and harp on his lonesomeness, his isolation, his lack of communication with fellow human beings. Against this we are trying to create the robust proletarian hero, uncompromising in his hatred of the oppressor.9

A revolutionary play cannot stop at sloganeering or predicting an inevitable victory for the proletariat in future. Besides highlighting the gory struggle of the proletariat, their class hatred, anger, or gallantry, the theatre must assess the workers as individuals. The complexity of an individual is often buried under his class identity. Characters in such plays appear to be puppets who merely shout slogans in favour of rebellion. They are alienated from all human emotions and faults. Isolated in their abstracted glory, they hardly seem creatures of flesh and blood. Marxian dialectics, as discussed above, renders the idea of immutability in human nature absurd. Thus, the capitalist, even in a play designed to brew hatred towards that class, cannot be portrayed as absolutely evil. Similarly, the worker should not be characterized as unqualifiedly good. Such puppets only alienate the audience, who are not able to locate any of these characters (drawn on absolutist principles of black or white) in real-life contexts. Such characterizations prove to be obstacles especially in political theatre, which seeks to awaken the consciousness of the masses.10 Our study of Dutt’s dramatic characterization in the following pages will reveal that some of his characterizations fall prey to such illogical divisions of good and evil. At the same time, many of his characters, drawn on the principle of dialectics, captivate our attention. We shall now look at some of the iconic characters from Dutt’s plays to understand the manner in which he espoused the idea of Marxian dialectics to enrich his characterization. Kallol claims its place in the hearts of theatre lovers as one of the defining plays which ensured Dutt’s status among the foremost Indian dramatist-directors of his time. It was first performed on 28 March 1965 at Minerva Theatre, Calcutta. Kallol was inspired by the Naval Rebellion in Bombay in December 1946, which has been strangely neglected in the documented history of our freedom struggle. It was perhaps the most potent rebellion of the armed forces against British governance. The unaccountable reticence concerning this event may also be read as a measure of the controversy that it has courted. It is claimed that the Congress leadership hoodwinked the rebels and joined hands with the British, which, expectedly, have been 9

Ibid. See Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 41–42; and Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, 132.

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Image 3.1 LTG’s Kallol (1965): The revolutionary navymen onboard The Khyber refuse to surrender. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

refuted by the Congress. The Congress leader Sardar Patel categorically dismissed the rebellion as an act of a handful of temperamental people. The Communist Party, on the other hand, extended whole-hearted support, in spite of its limited means. The mutiny, which had the potential to snowball into a full-fledged war of independence, was betrayed in cold blood (Image 3.1).11 Dutt drew his immediate inspiration for Kallol from Shahdat Ali’s book Nauvidroha. In addition to its historical significance, Kallol also carved a niche of its own as a magnificent stage production. Dutt had visited the USSR in October 1962 and recorded enduring memories of the visit in a diary. As a young dramatist, he was particularly impressed by the visual treat presented in a performance of Nikolay Okhlopkov’s Ocean at Mayakovsky Theatre, Moscow. Dutt was convinced that he needed to produce a play that would enthral the audience, both in terms of its content and the visual spell that it would cast on them in the playhouse. Kallol represents a definite manifestation of the growth of Dutt’s artistic consciousness in this direction. We will study Kallol as a production in the following chapter. Dutt’s protagonist Sardul Singh is an interesting study in dialectical nature. He leads the rebels onboard the ship Khyber. His efficiency as a gunner is legendary. At the beginning we find the Khyber—part of the British naval fleet in the Second World War—cornered by an Italian warship. In the face of imminent defeat, Sardul’s cannon saves the Khyber. He leads the dissenting ratings in their struggle against the British officers. As Captain Armstrong and Lieutenant Denham inspect the ship, 11

See Sunil Banerjee, “Nau Vidroha - 1946”, Epic Theatre, nos. 1–5, 1986, 38–39.

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Sardul provides the initial spark to the mutiny. He aims his machine gun straight at the officers and announces his intention to rebel unequivocally. It is only after this inspirational show of courage that his colleagues join the mutiny. We must appreciate the degree of danger that Sardul courts in this individual act of heroism. He has enough experience to know for certain that in case the rebellion is stifled, he will be the first soldier to be court-martialed and put to death. In spite of such danger, he does not hesitate even to shoot Denham as the British officer tries to escape to the ship’s arsenal. His courage against odds and single-minded devotion to the cause of Independence are examples worthy of emulation. When the helpless kin of naval mutineers and the grounded crew of other warships are mercilessly attacked, Khyber is the only ship which stands against the might of the British guns. In order to bring the enemy within the range of their cannons, Sardul is forced to steer the ship into a narrow creek. The crew of Khyber manages to temporarily elude the enemy but is surrounded by British warships as it tries to come out of the creek. As an unceremonious surrender seems the only viable option for Khyber, Sardul proves his mettle as a freedom fighter. He risks imminent death for the cause of Independence. In conversation with his comrade Rajguru, he clarifies that he has identified the compromising attitude of the political leadership: Sardul: Talwar [the ship which functions as the headquarters of the mutiny and maintains contact between the Congress leadership and the dissenting naval ratings] will not allow us to fight. Rajguru: They are trying to come to an understanding. Why do you propose war even before the peace negotiations fail? Sardul: Understanding with whom? Why should we negotiate? Didn’t you see how the British massacred innocent people in the village with machine guns?12

The symbiotic relationship between the political leaders of the rebellion and the British imperialists is clearly identified. Sardul might have met a sad end, but his is the only method that could guarantee freedom in the true sense of the term. An objective and dispassionate analysis of events will perhaps bring us to the conclusion that Sardul’s proposal for an all-out attack on the British is not viable in the given circumstances. A ship, virtually blockaded from replenishments in terms of weapons or food, cannot take on the imperialist forces on its own. Its defeat is only a matter of time. In fact, in terms of historical records, Khyber had actually surrendered. Dutt delivers a passionate message in favour of armed insurrection by not making the ship surrender. Like Eisenstein in Battleship Potemkin, he deviates from historical facts in order to arrive at ‘truth’. He presents before us not merely what happened but also what should have happened. Sardul’s militant methods may have ultimately failed, but one cannot disregard the honesty of his purpose. He stands before us as a shining example of commitment and dedication to his motherland. It is not enough to look at Sardul as a typical hero. Dutt takes care to portray him as a human, complete with faults of his own. Once Sardul returns home, he finds his wife Lakshmibai living with Subhash, a former gunner. Without trying to assess the 12

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 2, 260.

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situation, he hastens to his own conclusion. He blames his wife for not waiting long enough before assuming him dead. He calls Subhash a traitor for betraying the trust of a fellow navy man. The truth, as Lakshmibai and his mother Krishnabai attempt to explain to him, is very different. Subhash had supported the two helpless women in Sardul’s absence. Without his unflinching aid, Lakshmi would have been left with no option but to turn to prostitution. Krishnabai: Would it have been better if Lakshmi had become a prostitute instead of Subhash’s wife? Did you feed us? Do you know that they didn’t even send us your salary? Who looked after us when we were in such dire straits? Subhash did. Sardul: You are all against me. Why didn’t Lakshmi kill herself to save her honour from the American naval officers? Krishna: Why don’t you commit suicide now? That would solve this entanglement. Sardul: I don’t stoop to such poetic behaviour. Krishna: But Lakshmi must! What sense of justice!13

Sardul decides to leave Lakshmi with Subhash. But he cannot forgive them. His arrogance is inflexible as he refuses to budge from his own judgement. Lakshmi tells him that she loves him alone and pleads with him to stay back, but to no avail. Towards the end, we see Subhash risking his own life in order to bring rations to the fighters onboard Khyber. As he meets Sardul, he tells him that Lakshmi is still waiting for him. Sardul’s heart, however, does not melt. He continues to be cruel and heartless in his attitude towards Lakshmi. We agree with Subhash as he assesses Sardul’s nature: Subhash (to Sardul): You represent medieval values in your personal life. One whose sole claim on his wife is that of love, cannot have your attitude. You treat your wife as property. It is difficult to reconcile the two parts of your nature – you lead this grand struggle magnificently; at the same time, you are such a puritan and have such orthodox views.14

Dutt makes it difficult for us to vilify Sardul on account of his treatment of Subhash. Sardul may dislike Subhash as a person, but his love and respect for the latter’s courage is unalloyed. He is able to transcend the limitations of his personal judgement and extend the warmth and gratitude due to a compatriot as Subhash makes his way to the Khyber in the face of enemy onslaught. Subhash, physically crippled as he is, would have been helpless had Sardul chosen to make the most of the available opportunity to quell his personal grudge. Thus, we may conclude that it is not easy to categorize Sardul’s nature in terms of the simplistic binaries of good or evil. Like rounded characters in real life, his is a human mixture of heroism and pettiness. Sardul is a representative iconic character in Dutt’s oeuvre. But, Dutt is careful to point out that Sardul’s individual identity is secondary to his identity as a representative of the revolutionaries. The class, rather than the individual, is at the centre of attention. This is a conscious action on the part of the dramatist to wriggle free of a typical trope (especially popular in contemporary commercial films) where 13 14

Ibid., 254. Ibid., 279.

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the ‘hero’ would be endowed with superhuman powers. Such heroes undercut the people’s confidence in organizing themselves into a potent force of rebellion. Instead, they are urged to look for a messiah or saviour, who will magically solve all their problems by single-handedly getting the better of the capitalist class. Lakshmibai, Sardul’s wife, presents before us another interesting study of human nature. She is torn between her love for Sardul and her gratitude towards Subhash. The intensity of her feeling for Sardul is evident even in the latter’s inexplicable absence after the termination of the war. Dispassionate logic suggests that Sardul has been killed in the war, but Lakshmi continues to harbour hopes of his return. When Subhash blames Sardul for disloyalty, her passionate outburst clarifies her longing for Sardul. In a fit of anger, she commands Subhash to leave the house at once. At this point, her reaction to Subhash’s words clarifies the mental turmoil that she suffers: Lakshmi (to Subhash, in tears): Please forgive me. I did not mean to insult you. Your sympathy knows no bounds. You have saved me from starving. But for you, I would have been compelled to become a prostitute.15

She goes on to confess that she has grown to love Subhash as well. Sympathetic readers would appreciate the helpless state that the woman is in, as she must suffer the opposite pulls of love and loyalty. Towards the end, she falls prey to a trick. She is enticed into revealing the secret arsenal (the weapons are kept with the priest Sastri, whom the British never doubted) in return of a promise that Sardul will be let off. Lakshmibai goes against the wishes of her mother-in-law, and even Subhash, as she betrays the rebellion brewing against the British. She claims that she is only performing the duties of a wife in trying to save the life of her husband at all costs. She is aware of the fact that Sardul will reprimand her as a traitor once he comes to know of the events; yet, even an opportunity to hear him speak is too much of an enticement. In a moving sequence that follows Lakshmibai’s ‘treachery’, her motherin-law approaches her with the intention of assaulting her, but ends up embracing her: Krishna (in a ferocious mood, moving towards Lakshmi): I will … I will … (she is about to hit her daughter-in-law; but embraces her, in tears) You love him [Sardul] too much, don’t you?16

The British officers allow her to meet Sardul, but it is only his corpse that is brought before her. Lakshmibai’s tragedy is even more poignant than Sardul’s as she does not even get the opportunity to assume heroic stature by sacrificing herself for the nation. If we turn our attention to Subhash, we find that Dutt has used a similar technique to lend credibility to the character. On the one hand, Subhash suffers sexual jealousy as he realizes that Lakshmi can never love him like she loves Sardul. On the other hand, he is full of respect and gratitude for the inspirational leadership shown by 15 16

Ibid., 251. Ibid., 308.

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Sardul in the fight against the British. He does not hesitate even to jeopardize his own life in deciding to carry rations to the crew of the Khyber. Sardul’s death may aid Subhash in his personal life, but he is magnanimous enough to realize that Sardul’s survival is essential for the greater cause of Independence. Krishnabai transcends her role as a mother and becomes a rebel leader in the true sense of the term. Like her son onboard the Khyber, she commands the fighters in the waterfront village in their unequal strife against the British armed forces. The villagers—most of them kinsmen of the ratings engaged in mutiny—display remarkable courage as they take on British cannons and machine guns with a handful of obsolete grenades and guns smuggled into the village by Sardul during his visits home. Krishna is not overwhelmed by personal emotions. Unlike Lakshmi, she realizes that the rebellion is of far greater importance than any individual’s life. The enemy soldiers fail to eke out any information from her even after advertising repeated threats to the life of her son, her compatriots, and herself. It must be emphasized that Krishna’s assessment of the struggle for absolute Independence does not depend on her innate intelligence, or any other quality that marks her as different from the other villagers. She arrives at political maturity through hands-on exposure to the torture inflicted by the British imperialists and their Indian aides. Her prominent role in the armed struggle is inspirational to the proletarian audience as she is carefully characterized by the dramatist as one of them. Krishna’s role in the relationship between her son and her daughter-in-law deserves special notice. In our society, we usually find the mother siding with her son in events of domestic feud. Krishna, however, supports her daughter-in-law wholeheartedly. She tries her best to make Sardul appreciate the circumstances that have forced Lakshmi to live with Subhash. When Sardul, in his inveterate arrogance, refuses to respond rationally to the situation, she does not hesitate to even turn him out of her house. Her support for Lakshmi is unflinching to the end: Sardul (to his mother): I must leave this house if you allow them [Lakshmi and Subhash] to stay here. Krishna (surprised, but in a tone of conviction): So be it, Sardul Singh. Lakshmi will stay here.17

Dutt presents us with a character that is apparently familiar to the audience. However, her actions in familiar circumstances defy our expectations. In this manner, the dramatist builds a dialectical relationship between the audience’s expectations of a particular character and the character’s actual behaviour in the play. The two women portrayed by Dutt carve their niche by virtue of the strength of their character. They do not play subordinate roles to the men. To Dutt, such portrayals of women mark an important departure in his work from the bourgeois concept of ‘Indian society’ represented in contemporary popular culture. Women were generally shown uncritically subservient to their husbands (or other male members of the family), with no opinion of their own. In the other extreme, the female body was appallingly objectified to excite an uncritical audience viscerally. 17

Ibid., 254.

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Dutt’s characterization of women (in Kallol as well as several other plays) was different from the stereotypical roles prescribed for them in contemporary bourgeois cultural representations. Kallol drew unprecedented attention, and in spite of desperate attempts by the government to curb its popularity, people flocked to the playhouse to watch it. All prominent newspapers, with the exception of The Statesman, refused to promote the play through advertisements. Tapas Sen’s famous one-liner “Kallol chalchhe, chalbe” (Kallol is running and will keep running), contained in hand-written posters and pamphlets, replaced conventional advertising methods. That all prominent actors, including Dutt, would be threatened daily via phone is a measure of the desperation of the Congress government to stop the play’s run.18 As discussed in the first chapter, Dutt was arrested a few months later for his ‘seditious’ article “Sangramer Arekdik” (The Other Side of Revolution) published in the magazine Deshitaishi. The systematic attempts made by the Congress government to stall Kallol bear testimony to its effectiveness as political theatre. It is no exaggeration to say that it continues to be a landmark in Bengali theatre both in terms of the bold, politically charged nature of its content and its technical finesse. Dutt was criticized for altering historical facts in Kallol, but he strongly defended his action based on the rationale that such alteration serves a greater purpose in political theatre.19 To the bourgeois, truth is constituted by no more than hard facts. Thus, the historical surrender of the Khyber marks the end of the mutiny. In contrast, Dutt’s commitment to the cause of the proletariat motivated him to dramatize facts not as they are, but as they should be in order to inspire revolutionary consciousness in the masses. His partisan representation of truth distorts facts, but serves his political purpose of challenging the bourgeois consciousness of society. Manusher Adhikare, which opened at Minerva Theatre on 14 July 1968, successfully made use of courtroom drama. The stylistic elements of this production have been analysed in the following chapter. However, we may take a brief look at the characterization of Samuel Leibowitz here. Manusher Adhikare was based on the historical Scottsboro trial, where nine African-American teenagers were accused of raping two American white girls on a train near Scottsboro, Alabama, on 25 March 1931. The play dramatizes the trial of Haywood Patterson, the leader of the accused teenagers. Dutt does not present the characters dialectically. Samuel Leibowitz, Patterson’s lawyer, seems to be a perfect human being. His professional expertise shines through the trial. His opponent Tom Knight or the judge Callahan cannot match his erudition and knowledge of legal practice. The judge, in spite of his predecided judgement that Patterson must be sentenced to death, turns to Leibowitz for names of books on jurisprudence.20 Knight acknowledges him as the finest criminal lawyer in America, and the fact that he has been given a lesson in legal practice by Leibowitz’s expert arguments during the trial. Callahan abuses his 18

Sekhar Chattopadhyay, who played Sardul Singh with aplomb, recollects some of these instances. See his “Kalloler Kal”, Sabda Sahitya Patrika: Utpal Dutt Visesh Sankhya, 2010. 19 See Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 21 onwards. 20 See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 2, 116 onwards.

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Image 3.2 LTG’s Manuser Adhikare (1968): Dutt (sitting to the right of the witness box) plays one of his favourite characters—the lawyer Samuel Leibowitz. Satya Bandyopadhyay (standing beside the witness box) plays the opposing lawyer Tom Knight. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

position as the protector of justice to ensure Leibowitz’s defeat. Yet, none of them can identify loopholes in his arguments. On the other hand, Leibowitz proves the deposition of every witness presented by Knight to be false. His flawless interrogation and arguments expose the falsity of the charge on Patterson and his friends beyond reasonable doubt. When the jury rules against Patterson, in spite of overwhelming evidence in his favour, the audience realizes the intensity of racism that prevails in Alabama. Leibowitz’s greatness is not limited to his professional sphere. As a human being, too, he is an example worthy of emulation. Before beginning his interrogation, he requests Victoria Price, the supposed victim, not to frame Patterson based on the colour of his skin alone. He even apologizes to her as he will have to ask her unpleasant questions. Towards the end of the trial, his wife Lana is badly wounded by a stone hurled by the frenetic, racist crowd that has gathered outside the court. He shows remarkable poise in spite of the situation and even forgives the perpetrators of the violent act immediately. His summing up reminds us of Martin Luther King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech, where he passionately calls for equality regardless of colour, class, or social position. Dutt apotheosizes the lawyer, whose selfless crusade for human rights leaves us in awe and admiration (Image 3.2). The historical Samuel J. Leibowitz, hired by the International Labor Defence (I. L. D.) to defend Patterson and his friends, was, however, different from the idealized hero that Dutt creates. Leibowitz had gained considerable fame and goodwill

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as a criminal lawyer. He was hired based on his record of success, rather than his political affiliations. He was not a social reformer committed to fight racism and class prejudice, as Dutt makes him out to be.21 The quasi-Christological figure that Dutt creates is not a perfect representation of its historical model. We have earlier assessed the presentation of Americans as repulsive and decadent in Ajeya Vietnam, which aided Dutt’s purpose of winning the audience’s sympathy for the oppressed Vietnamese people. Similarly, the perfection of Leibowitz ensures the magnification of the audience’s hatred for the whites in Alabama. Thus, Dutt does not probe dialectical possibilities in Leibowitz’s nature but reduces him to an abstraction of goodness. Though Dutt’s characterization may build the audience’s hatred for the racist whites in Alabama, the nature of his protagonist actually hinders his political purpose. As we discussed earlier, representations of unreal perfection put the proletariat off, rather than inspiring them to rebellion. Dutt vouched to create a “proletarian hero” for his political theatre who would not be marked by his isolated glory in society. Leibowitz is certainly a lone crusader, who garners our sympathy partly on account of his isolation in spite of the noble cause that he espouses. He makes no visible attempt to sensitize the consciousness of the coloured people about their racial exploitation or lead them into rebellion against their exploiters. He fights a heroic crusade against overwhelming odds, which bestows on him individual grandeur. However, Dutt’s Leibowitz falls well short of the “proletarian hero” that he vouched to create. Though Manusher Adhikare was a historical play, Dutt added imaginary shades to certain characters. He did not record the overturning of the death sentence of Haywood Patterson at the American Supreme Court, but ended with the verdict being pronounced. The historical Haywood Patterson was never executed by the state. He succumbed to cancer in 1952 while incarcerated. Therefore, the status of a martyr for the cause of rights of blacks that is accorded to him in the prologue of Manusher Adhikare is imagined by Dutt. This is part of his attempt to ensure that his Patterson appears more magnificent than his historical model. Perhaps, Dutt felt that the anger against racism that he wished to generate in his audience would be diluted in case the historical events were reflected in their totality. Like Leibowitz, Patterson appears a heroic warrior who deserves our sympathy. But he is not presented as a leader of the masses in their political strife. The Jatra play Nilrakta (Blueblood) was premiered by Bharati Opera on 19 September 1970 at Mahajati Sadan, Calcutta. Dutt sets its action against the backdrop of incidents borrowed from the freedom struggle. The Indigo Rebellion (or nilvidroha, as it was known in Bengali) was organized around 1859–60 by peasants in Bengal. The British forced them to cultivate indigo in place of food crops owing to the huge demand for indigo dye in Britain. The cultivators were brutally exploited and reduced to penury. Their accumulated hatred ultimately snowballed into a rebellion against the rulers. The imperialist masters had devised a particularly wicked method to torture the illiterate farmers by handing them loans (locally called

21

For an illuminating discussion on this issue, see Utpal Dutt, The Rights of Man, trans. Sudipto Chatterjee and Neilesh Bose (Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2009), Introduction.

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dadon) which could never be repaid by the farmers in their lifetime and was inherited by their successors. The rebellion was brutally suppressed by the British but the immense show of courage by the farmers, armed with no more than sticks, stones, and other crude weapons against artillery, was an inspirational account to generations of freedom fighters. Biswanath Sardar, alias Bishe Dakat, was recognized as the first martyr of this rebellion when he was hung to death after a farcical trial at Asannagar in Nadia district. Some of these incidents, including the historical site of Asannagar, appear in Dutt’s play. However, Nilrakta is not a historical play, nor is it the first cultural representation of this phase of the freedom struggle. We are deliberately reminded of Dinabandhu Mitra’s pioneering protest play Nildarpan (1860) by the significant difference between Mitra’s darpan (mirror) and Dutt’s rakta (blood). Dutt presents Meghai Sardar, the leader of the villagers at Asannagar, as a dialectical balance of opposite characteristics. He is a morally upright person who believes in the essential goodness of humanity. He does not hesitate to provide sanctuary to Isub Biswas from the pursuing British officers Larmur and Hyde. Isub is a complete stranger and a Muslim in a village dominated by Hindus. Meghai risks his own well-being as well as that of his fellow villagers by inviting the wrath of the British. Later he stands up in favour of Taju’s love for Parvati. Here he shows the ability to transcend the petty boundaries of caste and religion. He seems an example worthy of emulation—a leader in the true sense of the term. His straightforward attitude and essential goodness make him a gullible victim to the wickedness of the landlord Ramram Mukherjee and the British officers. He lives with the misconception that Ramram is a benevolent landlord who strives to protect his subjects from the British. He is rudely shocked when he finds that the landlord has sold the prosperous village to the indigo merchants. He is cheated once again when he trusts the East India Company’s sense of justice. He convinces the villagers to join him in petitioning to the magistrate against the gross misconduct of Hyde and Larmur. He discovers to his utter dismay that Larmur himself has become honorary magistrate to hear the case. Such incidents strengthen Meghai’s resolve against the British. He realizes that there is no point in trying to negotiate for justice with the British. The colonized people must win their rights by force alone. He inspires the residents of Asannagar to stand up against the atrocities perpetrated upon them. They commit themselves to rigorous practice sessions conducted in secrecy to sharpen their martial skills. His astute leadership transforms the uninitiated villagers into a band of magnificent guerilla fighters who give the British soldiers a run for their money. Meghai’s adopted son Manik leaves Asannagar to seek sanctuary in a nearby Santhal village called Mahal. He joins the local residents there to create a virtual Eden, away from the grand freedom struggle launched by Meghai. While all other neighbouring villages join Meghai’s band of rebels, Manik refuses to participate in the battle. He feels the peace prevailing in Mahal is too dear to be sacrificed. Meghai tries his best to cajole him into aiding them against the British like the other neighbouring villages, but fails. He shows remarkable ability to transcend his fatherly instincts and treat Manik as a traitor. Meghai: Manik Sardar, let me know whether you will join us with all the Santhals of this village.

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Manik: No, I will not, Father. Meghai: This is Meghai Sardar from Asannagar standing before you, not your father … Be prepared to be punished, traitor!22

Manik appeals to his father’s love and begs to be left out of the battle. Meghai realizes that the gravitas of the responsibility thrust on his shoulders as the leader of the rebels does not allow him to luxuriate in emotions. The father in him is unable to deter his exemplary leadership qualities. He rejects Manik’s proposal and threatens to teach him a lesson. In a befitting response, his son accepts the challenge and reminds him that he owes his undying spirit to none other than his father Meghai. When it is discovered that Manik is actually absent at the meeting of the rebel villagers, Meghai proposes capital punishment for him. Dutt projects the turmoil in his mind in a moving sequence where the other villagers counter his proposal and opine that they should allow Manik some more time before deciding his fate. Meghai, as their leader, warns them of the mistake they are committing by allowing emotion to overwhelm cold-blooded logic. At the same time, Meghai, as the father of Manik, is relieved that he will not have to execute his son immediately. Manik (to the villagers): You are making a mistake. This delay will prove a suicidal decision. (to his wife): I am relieved. I may claim that I have no emotions, but is it actually true? Do I really have no heart? Yugalmani [his wife]: I understand you perfectly. You won’t hesitate to kill Manik with your own hands? You may make such claims before others, but you cannot fool me.23

Manik decides to seek the help of the British in order to protect the village of Mahal from the rebels. The British promise to help him in return for his cooperation in their heinous trick devised to trap Meghai Sardar. However, Meghai is a step ahead of his adversaries. He enters Mahal in disguise. In the final encounter between father and son, Dutt brilliantly portrays the two sides of Meghai’s nature. As an exemplary fighter, he allows the traitor Manik no chance to escape. As he thrusts his sword deep into Manik’s heart, he simultaneously rejoices at his victory and rues the brutal death of his son. Meghai is unable to recover himself quickly enough in order to escape the scene. As the British soldiers arrest him, he points out that they succeeded only because he was unable to obliterate his human instincts entirely. The feared warrior in him could not be brutal enough to eclipse the emotions of a father. Dutt characterizes Meghai as a true leader of the masses. He does not crave individual glory by engaging the might of the British on his own or aided by a handful of followers. Rather, he is able to enthuse all the villagers (not only those of his own village but also of neighbouring villages) to wholeheartedly fight for their rights. Meghai is not divinely endowed with political foresight or intelligence that his comrades do not possess. Like his fellow villagers, he, too, is naïve at the beginning; susceptible to the deception of his adversaries. His life experiences help him decipher the real nature of the colonialists. So, his promotion to the position of a proletarian leader convinces the audience. He appears to be a natural leader who has earned his 22 23

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 3, 137. Ibid., 148.

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position of absolute respect among the masses. Dutt’s characterization of Meghai is a noteworthy instance of the dramatist’s “proletarian hero”. Harichand is another interesting case study. In his early career, he had been employed by the local landlord to facilitate oppression of the villagers. He had to face social ostracism in his own village. The villagers even vandalized his house in order to exact revenge. These bitter experiences have soured his relations with them, especially their leader Meghai Sardar. He does not hesitate to side with the indigo merchants. He rejoices at the prospect of finding his erstwhile enemies reeling under the boots of the British masters. All incidents of exploitation of the villagers add to his sense of triumph. The following lines, spoken by Harichand to his daughter Parvati, clarify his state of mind: Why shouldn’t I accept money from the indigo merchants? I have had to suffer a lot owing to my erstwhile association with the landlord. Nobody would speak to me. The villagers had attacked my house during Titumir’s revolt … The tide has now turned in my favour. Why shouldn’t I make best use of this opportunity? I will laugh aloud at the fate of these villagers … Do you feel that your father is a demon? The world thinks so, but you mustn’t. This little house is my sanctuary, you represent my humanity. When I come home to you, I become a human being, I become Parvati’s father and I forget the torment of being a monster to the world.24

Harichand makes a dreadful error of judgement in his assessment of the past events in his life. The villagers stood against him because he was part of the exploitative system of governance in his earlier capacity as the landlord’s aide. They had no personal scores to settle. Meghai tries his best to help Harichand realize this fact. Unfortunately, Harichand refuses to budge from his position. He continues to see his fellow villagers as his avowed enemies, whose troubles bring him joy. The British make use of his petty-minded approach by employing him as their spy in the village. Harichand’s love for his daughter Parvati is genuine, but it is a selfish expression of love, nonetheless. He wishes to see his daughter happy, but does not hesitate to win her happiness at the cost of the tears of others. He enters into a contract with the British officer Larmur that he will carry out whatever task is entrusted to him. In return, Larmur promises not to let his daughter Parvati get raped. Harichand’s anxiety as a father does not allow him to see through the villainy of Larmur. He fails to realize that he cannot ensure his daughter’s safety by sacrificing that of so many of his fellow villagers. He is enmeshed in a strange situation where he must facilitate evil in order to protect himself from it. He is a mute spectator as Richard Hyde outrages the modesty of Hema. The helpless girl, who sees Harichand as a father-figure, repeatedly pleads for help but to no avail. Harichand learns a stern lesson later. In a rude twist of fate, he facilitates the kidnapping of his own daughter without realizing it. He had wanted to keep his daughter safe by sacrificing other women. That he could never have protected Parvati at such a dear cost finally dawns on him. Dutt does not condemn the character as a stereotyped villain who revels in misdeeds. Rather, we find in him the cohabitation of a father’s love and a strangely selfish expression of that love. 24

Ibid., 104.

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The play Suryasikar was one of Dutt’s favourites, one of the few that he chose to translate into English.25 It was written on the request of Sailen Mohanty, the proprietor of the Jatra company Satyambar Opera, for whom Dutt had written Jalianwalabagh earlier. Once the play was written (the original title was Samudrasashan), Satyambar Opera discovered that they lacked the means to effectively produce it. Dutt then adapted it for the proscenium stage and called it Suryasikar, performed for the first time by PLT on 28 March 1971 at Rabindra Sadan, Calcutta. A Jatra play must be imagined on a grand scale as subtleties of dialogue or action on stage tend to get overshadowed by the open-air performance. In Suryasikar, it is apparent that Dutt designed his characters in tune with the fundamental nature of a Jatra production, even though he revised it for the proscenium. The play, set in Ayodhya, dramatizes the conflict between the Hindu emperor Samudragupta (330–375 AD) and the learned Buddhist monk Kalhan. The monk is represented as a Galileo-like figure whose scientific discoveries and thirst for knowledge challenge the prejudice and religious blindness which form the basis of the Gupta dynasty’s might. The king’s army chief Hayagriva epitomizes qualities that ensure passionate involvement with the character on the part of the audience. Initially, he appears to be a heartless monster in the form of a human being. He sees women merely as sexual objects meant for a night’s carnal pleasure. Basubandhu [minister]: Is the female body merely a means to a night’s pleasure for you? Hayagriva: What else is it meant for? Every night I squeeze the life force out of a woman’s body, only to cast her aside irreverently in the morning. Another name is added to the list of prostitutes in this city.26

He treats his slaves as animals. He boasts to the minister of the brutality with which he had murdered his slave (a Sudra—in the Brahminical kingdom of the Guptas, this was the fate ordained for the lower classes) the previous evening. Hayagriva’s gross lack of respect for women is born out of his arrogance and sense of invincibility. He believes that he is destined to be peerless and everyone around him must submit themselves in absolute subjection to him. His uncontrolled ego leads him to believe that he wasn’t even born of a woman: It is said that I wasn’t born of a woman. I came to life having split open the trunk of a tree. I don’t have a mother, the great warrior Hayagriva did not require a mother for birth. Hence, I do not acknowledge the existence of mothers.27

As the slave Madhukarika is molested in public, Hayagriva stands by to enjoy the spectacle. But we witness a transformation in the army chief once he meets Indrani— Kalhan’s disciple and foremost student. Indrani approaches him with the plea of 25 The play was translated by Dutt as Hunting the Sun in Epic Theatre, no. 68–69, August–September 1972. However, I offer my own translation of the lines from the play quoted here. They are closer to the original Bengali text. 26 Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 148. 27 Ibid., 151.

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granting freedom to the slave Gohil. Hayagriva’s initial responses to her are characteristically rude and arrogant. He claims that the seven hundred dinars (Aryan currency) that he has spent in buying Gohil accounts for whatever he may choose to subject the slave to. The irrevocable logic of Indrani’s arguments seems to get the better of his arrogance. In her, he meets one who dares to oppose him on terms of equality. She exposes the frivolous nature of the legend that surrounds his birth. The army chief discovers, to his utter dismay, that a ‘mere’ woman has forced him to stand before the mirror: Indrani: You fill your ears with angry growls, lest truth finds its way in. Will you be able to change falsity to truth with the might of your sword? Where is your logic, rationality? If humans relinquish their capacity to think, are they any better than beasts? Ask yourself: can a human being be born inside a tree? … You are either a foundling or your father, the great Kshatriya warrior Maudgalya, propagated this story to hide the identity of the Sudra or slave woman who is your mother.28

Hayagriva might be a feared warrior, but he clearly lacks courage when Indrani challenges him to face the truth. There is, however, a marked difference in his response to Indrani when compared to that of the minister Basubandhu or the city superintendent Sisumar. These Aryans are determined to kill Indrani at all costs as they realize that her staunch belief in the rational principles of science has the potential to shake the foundations of their empire. Hayagriva at least has the heart to allow her to speak, in spite of being aware of the challenge that she poses to his self-created image. He gives in to her request and frees Gohil. Indrani is unlike any of the timid, submissive women that Hayagriva treats as mere flesh. It is this sense of novelty that initially draws him to her. According to practice, the army chief tries to intimidate Indrani into becoming his sex-slave. To his surprise, the lady is unmoved. She reminds him sternly that he may seize her body with force, but he will never manage to win her heart against her will. The strength of the lady’s resolve wins Hayagriva’s admiration, though he does not acknowledge the fact immediately. The audience discovers the changing nature of the army chief’s response to Indrani as he disobeys the arrest warrant issued in her name by the royal priest Birupaksha and gives her sanctuary in his own house. Hayagriva’s treatment of Indrani is different from the manner to which the audience had been introduced at the beginning. Her courage and resolve fascinate him, and he is forced to treat her with a degree of respect, almost in spite of himself. With time, his respect for her graduates to emotional dependence and even love. The feared warrior even sacrifices his life for the sake of Indrani. She exposes the slippery ground on which the myth of his infallibility stands and makes him realize that he is no more than human. She helps him break the shackles which his self-created image of a larger-than-life demigod had imposed on him. He seems to have rediscovered his humanity in the course of his interaction with her. Hayagriva’s material or social superiority over her does not win him peace of mind. In contrast, Indrani’s definite aim and purpose in life ensures an indefatigable spirit which even the emperor struggles to break. Such resolve wins Hayagriva’s admiration. He realizes that in respecting another human being as an equal, he liberates his own potential as a human being. 28

Ibid., 155.

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He no longer needs to live a one-dimensional life as a slaughter-machine devoid of feelings. Behind the façade of a feared warrior, he is, like others, a person capable of expressing emotion. Hayagriva’s changing nature as a self-respecting human being in spite of his apparent monstrosity is evident in his interactions with the empress Urmila. The empress, perhaps tired of her role as Samudragupta’s trophy-wife, seeks carnal pleasure in Hayagriva’s embrace. Hayagriva does not lack the courage to reveal his thoughts about her in spite of the consequent dangers associated with espousing the queen’s wrath: Hayagriva [to Urmila]: Your beauty is artificial. You lack any positive quality. I find your hypocrisy intolerable …You are merely an overused prostitute.29

Of course, it can be argued that his decisive rejection of Urmila has its basis in his absolute loyalty to the king. The changes that Indrani introduces in Hayagriva’s nature are not cosmetic. He makes a conscious effort to improve himself under her influence. She teaches him that one needs to learn humility before expecting to love or be loved. Hayagriva’s inveterate ego and arrogance are the primary obstacles that prevent him from respecting others as fellow beings. He lets her off with an invitation to return if she were to love him. Such an action signifies a distinct transition in Hayagriva’s nature from a devilish subhuman state to that of an honourable gentleman who acknowledges the value of mutual respect in a relationship. Once he is able to surrender his overweening ego before Indrani, he feels the need to be loved. He discovers that he too requires the validation and care of another human being. There are shades to his character beyond the invincible warrior who can treat fellow beings only as subordinates or inferiors. He experiences a holistic development of personality whereby he is able to express emotions and even think for himself. Hayagriva’s love for Indrani is strong enough to make him challenge the king in order to save her from being arrested. At the same time, he remains loyal to the king in administering his orders. He is torn between his identity as the king’s dedicated servant who sees his master as quasi-divine and infallible, and his love for Indrani as an embodiment of honesty and truth: I’ve always believed that the king’s word is God’s will. The king symbolizes divinity. Even if the emperor, like a ferocious beast, tears apart the body of the woman I worship, he is my lord. I am merely his dedicated slave. How does one account for such a cruel turn of fate?30

Dutt presents him in a manner that inspires our sympathy and hatred alternately. He protects Indrani valiantly from Samudragupta’s men for as long as possible. Again, we find him leading the soldiers sent by the emperor to destroy Kalhan’s scientific equipment and records. These records represent the fruition of years of dedicated study undertaken by Kalhan and his pupils, including Indrani. Hayagriva does not consider that any disrespect shown towards the scientific discoveries spearheaded by Kalhan will cause Indrani greater injury than any form of torture that Samudragupta may inflict upon her. He tries his best to force Kalhan to recant so that Indrani’s life 29 30

Ibid., 163. Ibid., 184.

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may be spared. He does not realize that she has dedicated her life to the quest for truth, and any action that jeopardizes the triumph of truth will pain her more than death. His love for Indrani seems selfish in the sense that he seeks to keep her alive at all costs without any regard for the values she embodies. He only cares for the emotional satisfaction that he will gain in preserving her life. Hayagriva sacrifices his own life to be with Indrani during her final moments. This action may be read as heroic sacrifice for the sake of love. The alert audience may also discover that Hayagriva’s final act is only an enactment of a foregone conclusion. He is hardly left with options after Indrani’s death. His altered personality makes it impossible for him to continue playing the role of a feared slaughter-machine. He now requires emotional anchorage in another human being. Indrani’s death cancels all possibilities of emotional fulfilment for him. Such a bestial existence perhaps proves intolerable for Hayagriva, and he is forced to end his life. The myriad shades of the character capture our imagination, and his complex nature with its fair share of admirable qualities and follies makes it difficult for us to label him as a type. He defies categories and achieves the status of a humane personality. The emperor Samudragupta embodies a strange mixture of qualities. If we were to categorize the characters in Suryasikar into broad divisions of good and evil, the emperor will certainly represent the latter kind best. Yet, Dutt presents varying shades of the character before us. Unlike the royal priest and minister, the emperor possesses the courage to examine the validity of Kalhan’s scientific claims. The priest and the minister attempt to forcibly dismiss Kalhan’s theories on the ground that they run contrary to the descriptions in the Puranas. We notice a crippling sense of fear in them which manifests itself as unbridled anger at the learned monk. They know that their false propagations about God and religion will fall apart before Kalhan’s disputations. So, they try their best to ensure Kalhan is put to death even before assessing the validity of his logic. Samudragupta, on the other hand, comes forward to look through Kalhan’s astronomical telescope and discover the actual nature of celestial objects, which are unscientifically revered as gods or goddesses in Hindu mythology. He accepts the truth of Kalhan’s claims unequivocally. However, he vows to ensure that Kalhan’s scientific theories gain no currency among the citizens of Ayodhya. The emperor realizes that his unchallenged rule owes its existence to the falsities which the Aryans propagate as divine will. Thus, Kalhan’s theories must be obliterated in spite of their potential to lead the people of Ayodhya into a new era of knowledge. Samudragupta: I may not again speak about the truth of Kalhan’s claims publicly, but I will know deep within that a lean, old Buddhist monk has successfully burnt up the myths in the Vedas, Puranas or Upanishads with his scholarship. I will know, Birupaksha, that you all are liars – you have traded only in lies. I will know in my mind that there is no soul, no heaven, no gods … We inhabit a vast nothingness. We are in a prison of lifeless objects, where we are born and must die. This is all there is in the universe.31

Samudragupta prioritizes his selfish need to licence Aryan dominance of the Sudras as divine will over his responsibility as king to enlighten his subjects. He 31

Ibid., 176.

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devises a wicked plan to make it seem to the people of Ayodhya that Kalhan has recanted. He invites all his subjects to a public trial where he presents Kalhan with due respect before them. Kalhan is then exhorted to speak the truth. He cannot, as his tongue has already been torn off. The people, unaware of this fact, interpret his silence as complicity to Samudragupta’s Aryan worldview. Samudragupta has certain grotesque traits in his character. He thinks of inhuman modes of punishment for his prisoners. Yet, he claims to have the mind and soul of an artist. The gruesome sight of Indrani being tortured on the rack inspires the emperor to write poetry. His earnest desire to eternalize Indrani in his painting, even as he devises methods to kill her, indicates his mental state. One might argue that the king is a prisoner in his own kingdom. Once the invincible Gupta Empire has been established, everyone must play their designated roles to eternalize its glory. Even the king is not free to lead a life of his own accord. Kalhan and Indrani appear to be abstractions of goodness. Kalhan’s courage, resolve, and will power or Indrani’s indomitable spirit in the face of adversity are qualities that we do not often come across in the real world. Bearing in mind that Suryasikar was originally designed as a Jatra play, we realize that the heretical observations of Kalhan and Indrani would force the audience to think beyond their comfort zone. The semi-urban population which usually flocks to see Jatra generally reposes blind faith in superstitions inherited across generations. The speeches of Kalhan and Indrani are terse. In contrast, Samudragupta speaks eloquently. Such lyricism helps the audience to connect to the characters on stage. In Jatra, even villains speak with lyrical grace. The legacy of Kalhan and his favourite student Indrani cannot be obliterated by Samudragupta. At the end, the emperor’s triumph over his rival is merely one of words, and not action: he needs to tear out Kalhan’s tongue in order to make his supposed recantation seem real. Some of Kalhan’s books are successfully smuggled out of Ayodhya. Dutt apotheosizes the Buddhist monk. Dordur, the court jester, reminds us of the Shakespearean fool. His mockery is laced with satirical digs and jibes at the cruel Aryans. Yet, his criticism is restricted to words. Being a Sudra in Ayodhya, he lacks the means to initiate any effective change. His helplessness is evident at the end when Kalhan remains silent even as his scientific theories are pronounced false by the Aryans. Dordur does not know that the monk’s tongue has been torn off. His festive spirit seems to have deserted him. He cannot come to terms with the Aryans robbing the citizens of the light of knowledge in spite of Kalhan standing before them. Dordur (shouting in rage, to Kalhan): Why don’t you speak? Have mercy, O monk, speak! They are tearing apart your scientific discoveries to establish falsities as the word of God. Will you still be silent? Kalhan, they are murdering Indrani once again. Why are you silent?32

We may conclude that, through these characters, Dutt presents before us complex human beings who spark discussion and debate in the minds of the audience. The political purpose served by Suryasikar is different from some of the plays discussed earlier. Here, the dramatist does not present a leader attempting to lead the 32

Ibid., 212.

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proletarian masses to rebellion against their exploiters. He explains the manner in which an exploitative regime seeks to perpetuate its reign of terror. Even though Dutt’s play is set in ancient India, one may identify substantial parallels with the manner in which modern dictatorial regimes function. The central conflict in Suryasikar— between truth and power, consciously chosen to reflect that in Brecht’s Life of Galileo—continues to be relevant. Dutt designed Suryasikar to shed light on the systems of exploitative governance chosen by most dictatorial regimes. His dialectical method ensures that his characters—and the situations that they find themselves in—appear convincing to the audience. Tiner Taloyar, Dutt’s most famous play, opened at Rabindra Sadan, Calcutta, on 12 August 1971. As we have seen in the opening chapter, Dutt’s reputation as a leading political dramatist had suffered in the events surrounding the production of Tir. He was left in the lurch with criticism pouring in from all quarters. The production of Manusher Adhikare salvaged the situation to an extent. Tiner Taloyar secured him a permanent place of respect in the history of Bengali theatre. Perhaps for the first time in his professional career, he was free to express his creative potential uninhibitedly. Dutt no longer had to face the economic pressures of commercial theatre as the LTG had surrendered the lease of Minerva Theatre. The group rehearsed for six months for this production—a luxury that Dutt could hardly afford in the demanding, professional world of Minerva Theatre.33 Moreover, Dutt does not choose a fixed political target in this play. Unlike in plays like Kallol, he is not committed to a particular political agenda. Tiner Taloyar ostensibly speaks about the world of theatre in Calcutta in the late nineteenth century. It is set in 1876—the year when the infamous Dramatic Performances Control Act was promulgated in order to enable the British to prohibit plays that were “scandalous, defamatory, seditious, obscene” or otherwise prejudicial to public interest.34 In his dedicatory proclamation that precedes the printed editions of the play, Dutt remembers the countless theatre workers whose courageous and untiring efforts in spite of the wrath of the colonial rulers kept the legacy of theatre in Bengal alive (Image 3.3). The Permanent Settlement enforced by Lord Cornwallis in 1793 had changed the nature of the land-based economy in Bengal beyond recognition. It hastened the growth of an urban industrialized economy. Money had become a determining factor in society, signifying a person’s status and privilege. Such a social structure based on possession of wealth bred hatred among the poor village folk for the urban middle class. Tiner Taloyar opens with an interaction between such a representative of the working class and Benimadhab, the actor-manager of The Great Bengal Opera. The human scavenger Mathur has never been to the playhouse, nor heard of Michael Madhusudan Dutt and finds no interest in his verse. He accidentally pours a bucket of excrement, which he has scavenged out of a manhole, on Benimadhab’s feet. On discerning that Benimadhab is a high-caste Brahmin, Mathur pours some more of the sewage by his side. Dutt presents a conflict at the outset. The educated middle class 33

See Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 107. Details of the Act may be found at http://www.commonlii.org/in/legis/num_act/dpa1876203/. Accessed on 5 April 2019.

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Image 3.3 PLT’s Tiner Taloyar (1971): Dutt (as Benimadhab) is seated at the centre. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

is separated from the working class who actually live ‘under’ the city—in sewerage pipes and manholes, as Mathur points out. The poor scavenger minces no words in chastising the likes of Benimadhab. Why should I watch your plays? … You speak in a language that we do not understand. The dance of the baijis is worthier, the Ramlila plays of our village make more sense.35

The gap between the two sections of society seems unbridgeable. Benimadhab, even in his most realistic production, cannot claim to speak of the sections of society that Mathur represents. In a sense, this limits the purpose of theatre which aims to represent all sections of society. The shift in emphasis to a production like Titumir at the end is significant in this regard. Once Benimadhab gathers courage to defy the diktats of the British and choose a play that actually speaks of his people, he prefers Priyanath Mallik’s Titumir. Earlier Priyanath had urged Benimadhab to produce his play Palasir Yuddha (The Battle of Plassey), where he claimed to have unmasked the treachery of Lord Clive and his supporters. Palasir Yuddha, in spite of its obvious patriotic fervour, lacked the earthiness of Titumir. The eponymous freedom fighter was one of the poor, hapless villagers. Hence, Benimadhab’s clarion call for rebellion against the British, as he impersonates Titumir on stage, represents the voices of all 35

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 80.

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sections of society. Such a united call for Independence causes the English officers great discomfiture. The disjunction between the world of the scavenger Mathur and that of Benimadhab reflects a typical feature of nineteenth-century Bengali society. The urban middle class, educated and civilized after predominantly Western fashion, could not relate to the illiterate village folk. Benimadhab’s creative forays into the world of Michael Madhusudan Dutt or Shakespeare appear to be worthless indulgences to Mathur. Such activities, in his opinion, befit babus who do not need to engage themselves in manual labour and may afford to waste time in dramatizing the romantic life of the prince of Kashmir. The backward sections of society represented by the scavenger finds no place in the world of Benimadhab. The actor-manager is pained to discover that commoners like Mathur cannot recognize his creative potential. Benimadhab appears strangely immune to the upheavals in society in spite of being a theatre artist. He limits his world to the stage where his actors paint their faces to deliver a few inane lines of dialogue. This prompts the progressive intellectual Priyanath to label his plays outdated and of ill taste. Priyanath wishes to draw him into the “light of reformation” with plays which represent the plight of the people reeling under British rule. At this point, Benimadhab questions the validity of Priyanath’s claims: I know these Westernized crooks very well … Their pockets are filled with money, yet their hearts cry for the poor … (to Priyanath) How many poor people have you met? Do they understand the English that you mouth so often?36

Such a conflict between tradition and modernity, represented in this altercation, epitomizes the dichotomy espoused by the Bengali middle class in the nineteenth century. Advanced Western education helped them broaden the horizons of their mind. At the same time, it threatened to alienate them from their own people. Benimadhab represents these contrary impulses in his persona. The initial impression that we form of his nature is not very encouraging. His interaction with Mathur, while he is inebriated, shows his lack of understanding of society outside the playhouse. His skills as an actor-manager, however, do not desert him entirely even when he is drunk. He readily identifies potential in Mayna after overhearing her casual songs. He defies the advice of his colleagues at The Great Bengal Opera to recruit an inexperienced, unknown lady as the lead actress of the troupe. His confidence in his own ability as a teacher sparkles in his statements: Benimadhab: I will teach her acting! Benimadhab Chatterjee can breathe life into stone … (to the other members) Can any of you act? Except one – Angur [Basundhara] … I am a teacher. I am like the Creator, Brahma. I am Viswakarma [considered to be the divine architect].37

His exemplary dedication to theatre is evident in the manner of his training Mayna as she evolves into the astute actress Sankari. His untiring quest for perfection bears fruit when Sankari is able to overcome crippling obstacles and deliver a grand performance as Anuradha in the play Mayurvahan. Once involved in his work, Benimadhab 36 37

Ibid., 95–96. Ibid., 90.

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seems to transcend his mortal identity. The quotidian realities of the world fail to capture his attention. He even appears eccentric at times. He disdainfully dismisses the owner, Birkrishna, from his presence when the latter urges him to get Sankari to dance on stage to satisfy the lusty, drunk babus in the audience. The actor-manager would not have dared to behave with the proprietor of the group in such a manner had he not been lost to the world at that moment of creative excellence. Benimadhab has no knowledge of English. Yet he excels in delivering dialogues in that language on stage. He informs Priyanath that he has perfected his English pronunciation by taking oral lessons from a foreigner called Coelho. As Priyanath points out, the perfection achieved by Benimadhab without familiarity of the language is indeed remarkable. His admission of his own weaknesses as an actor before his colleagues reflects his honesty. He continues to act in spite of his limitations as he has been accepted as the “Garrick of Bengal”. Benimadhab’s honest dedication to theatre tempers Priyanath’s initial opinion of him as a drunkard who wastes his time in petty, insignificant stage productions. Benimadhab’s uncommon attachment to his work leads him to even lose his humanity. Birkrishna, driven by his desire for Sankari, proposes to build the troupe a playhouse where they may function independently. In return, he wishes Sankari to become his kept woman. Benimadhab agrees to this heinous proposal. The prospect of owning an independent theatre, where he will be able to produce plays of his choice, is too great an allurement. The self-respect of Sankari, who looks up to him as her father, is too small a price. Basundhara: What price do we have to pay? Benimadhab: Next to nothing! Mayna will have to stay at Birkrishna’s house in Dhopapukur – that’s all. Basundhara: You agreed to sell her off? Benimadhab: There is no need to make it sound so dramatic. She will get a house, jewellery … Our daughter has found a suitable match. Basundhara: What about her soul? … Will you deck that up with jewels as well? Benimadhab: She was a beggar on the streets. She should thank her stars for this lucrative arrangement.38

The nonchalance with which Benimadhab trades humanity for potential success as an actor-manager disturbs the audience, even though they may know that the legendary Girish Chandra Ghosh treated his protégée, the star Binodini, identically. He looks at the arrangement as a business deal where Sankari is the capital that he must invest to eke the maximum profit out of Birkrishna’s offer. He claims that his decision would not vary even if Sankari were his own daughter: I would have done the same even if she had been my daughter. I can do everything for the sake of theatre. I have been doing so thus far, and will continue similarly in future … I cannot let go of such a lucrative offer while possessing capital like Mayna.39

38 39

Ibid., 126. Ibid., 127.

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It is difficult for us to identify such unapologetic, inhuman behaviour with the exemplary theatre manager and teacher so far. Besides his dedication to his work, it is possible to discern another reason for Benimadhab’s treatment of Mayna. Dutt hints at sexual jealousy towards Priyanath that drives Benimadhab to take such a drastic step. He cannot bear the growing intimacy between Priyanath and Mayna. He admits the fact to Basundhara in private: Benimadhab: There is no one to overhear us. Let me tell you that Mayna … Mayna is not merely my daughter-surrogate, she means more than that to me. Why else do I feel such anger for Priyanath? If only I could lay my hands upon him …40

Perhaps, he experiences similar jealousy towards Birkrishna as well. But we may argue that Birkrishna’s position as owner of the troupe prevents the actor-manager (who, as we have seen, is obsessed with theatre, and would not want to lose his chance to practise his art at any cost) from directing his ire at him. Benimadhab’s expertise as a trainer breeds a sense of self-importance in him. The actors coached by him seem to be his property. He looks at them as subordinates who owe all their skills to him. When Priyanath and Basundhara implore Sankari to rescind her position in The Great Bengal Opera and walk away with her pride intact, Benimadhab places a strange condition before them. He claims that Sankari must return whatever she has taken from him before she decides to walk out: Benimadhab: Jewellery! Priyanath, you are speaking like a petty businessman. Can’t you think of anything beyond cash? Will she be able to return all that I have given her? Can you return the new life that I gave you, Mayna? I want Sankari back; Mayna may go where she pleases … [to Priyanath and Basundhara] For whom are you so worried? Who is she? (points to Sankari) I own all of her. This beauty, speech, thought process, fame, acting skills, life – I have made all of this. How dare you claim a share of my artwork?41

Benimadhab looks at excellence on stage as the highest end of life. He sees Birkrishna’s offer as an opportunity for Sankari where she may continue her quest for excellence as an actor. He reminds Basundhara that the proprietor has agreed to allow Sankari to continue her acting career. In comparison, Sankari’s career will be threatened if she decides to live the remainder of her life as Priyanath’s wife: Benimadhab: Why do you label her future life as that of a prostitute? Birkrishna will allow her to act. That is her means to liberation … If, instead, she decides to quit acting and go to Priyanath’s house to spend the rest of her life as a typical wife, in the kitchen and the labour room – that will be the life of a prostitute indeed!42

Benimadhab’s disputation probably owes its origin to his jealousy of Priyanath, as discussed earlier. However, we cannot deny the validity of his logic. Women belonging to ‘reputable’ households like Priyanath’s could not imagine acting as a possible career option in nineteenth-century Calcutta. It is not improbable that Benimadhab’s predictions would have come true, had Sankari married Priyanath. 40

Ibid., 137. Ibid., 128. 42 Ibid. 41

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Benimadhab’s obsession with the world of theatre makes it impossible for him to accept that others may not hold success as an actor in such high esteem as he does. He does not care to seek Sankari’s opinion on the matter. He assumes that her wishes will match his. Towards the end, we discover another facet of his character. Birkrishna reports to the company of players that all important members of their rival The Great National Theatre have been arrested, owing to the “control of immorality and sedition” in plays prescribed in the Dramatic Performances Control Act. Benimadhab betrays the confidence placed in him by his colleagues when he decides not to oppose this damaging attack on the arts. To our surprise, he exhibits sadistic pleasure at the prospect of the rival theatre turning into ruin. He chooses Sadhabar Ekadasi over Priyanath’s revolutionary Titumir. Benimadhab is no longer economically dependent on Birkrishna for the sustenance of his company. Thus, his decision to appease the British is voluntary. This is a gross violation of the expectations that the audience had built around the potential of Benimadhab as an independent manager. He sees no merit in risking the existence of the troupe in an attempt to inspire rebellion against the British. It is difficult for us to accept that Benimadhab has indeed stooped low enough to choose plays which appease the British. Probably, it is his jealousy that drives him to decide against playing Priyanath’s creation on stage. The following words spoken by him before Basundhara are significant: Benimadhab (disgusted): How dare he [Priyanath] touch my Mayna? Will he put her up in a stable? Mayna is happy, my Mayna is happy. She is eating well. Moving around in carriages … Sleeping on a golden bed. What else would she need?43

The aura of unchallenged invincibility that builds around the manager within the restricted world of The Great Bengal Opera over the course of the play falls apart at the end. We discover that he, too, is driven by petty issues like prejudice and jealousy. Benimadhab is merely a creature of flesh and blood, far removed from the divine Creator that he had identified himself with. Tiner Taloyar ends with a remarkable transformation effected by the actors of The Great Bengal Opera. Led by Benimadhab, they suddenly switch to dialogues and actions from Titumir while playing Sadhabar Ekadasi. This unexpected attack with ‘tin swords’ takes the British officer Lambert by surprise. He is not in a position to stop the actors, in spite of being present in the house. Benimadhab finally assimilates courage to transcend his own pettiness. He realizes that his responsibility as an artist towards the people of his country should gain precedence over his hatred of an individual. The patriotic fervour of Priyanath’s work is undeniable and deserves to be distributed among the people. In this manner, Benimadhab plays his part in lending a voice to the muted cries for freedom of his countrymen. His smile at the end, once he has successfully delivered the dialogues meant for Titumir, is not just a sneer at Lambert and Birkrishna. It signifies his triumph over his own pettiness as an individual. With the Dramatic Performances Control Act in force, the risk undertaken by Benimadhab in enacting Titumir before Lambert and Birkrishna is 43

Ibid., 138.

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quite evident. The courage that the actors exhibit in challenging the British with tin swords is indeed heroic. Thus, our understanding of Benimadhab’s nature undergoes a change in the closing stages. It is difficult to discern the jealous Benimadhab in the patriotic Indian ready to challenge the might of the British in spite of his limited means. His nature embraces such contrary impulses to appear before us as a dynamic character of contrary qualities. The characterization of Benimadhab in Tiner Taloya¯r serves an important purpose in the political education of Dutt’s audience. Through the contraries in Benimadhab’s rounded character, the dramatist identifies the elements of progression and regression that coexist in society. An essential step in the development of the proletariat as a potent revolutionary force is their in-depth understanding of the complexities of social relationships. Tiner Taloya¯r, when viewed through the lens of political theatre, does not naively present a society that is progressive. Rather, in its protagonist, Dutt is able to embed contrary characteristics. Some of Benimadhab’s qualities show him as a progressive human being, while some others project him as a monster who sees women as capital to be invested for profit. The clash of the contrary impulses within his persona represents social forces in action. Dutt designed the character of Priyanath Mallik in the manner of the famous Derozians or Young Bengal—a generation of young progressive intellectuals in nineteenth-century Bengal inspired by the teachings and values of Henry Louis Vivian Derozio. They were educated in Western thought and learning, mostly at Hindu College in Calcutta, and sought a violent upheaval of the putrid social structure of their motherland in the nineteenth century. Inspired by the writings of Paine, Bentham, Mill, and Adam Smith, they registered their disapproval of the colonial order in their writings and speeches. Priyanath hails from a family where the patriarch is a compulsive womanizer and a drunkard. He has no inclination for the money that his father makes from his trade in iron and hates him for his misdemeanours. Contrary to his external appearance (he dresses in tune with contemporary British fashion), Priyanath’s allegiance is towards the poor, helpless people of his country. His Western education ensures a degree of similarity to the British masters. The Indian capitalists and landlords complicit with the British are in awe of him for this reason. We find Bachaspati withdrawing from his plan to vandalize a rehearsal of The Great Bengal Opera as he discovers Priyanath, an apparent Englishman, reprimanding them in English. Priyanath wishes to awaken the common people of his country against the British. The Westernized lifestyle that ensures acceptance among the aristocracy alienates him from his own people. As Benimadhab explains to him, he must learn to embrace the difficulties of the real world of theatre before aspiring to write plays which speak of his people: Benimadhab: You must stop wearing these strange garments … You’ll have to work with us through the night, sweep the stage, wash costumes. Experience the real world of theatre before you turn to writing plays.44

44

Ibid., 98.

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Priyanath’s passionate patriotism does not fetch him the good wishes of his countrymen. In fact, his European attire and frequent use of English make him a laughingstock. We find him ridiculed by common people on the streets of Calcutta. He seems unable to protest violently, except on a stray occasion. In a similar fashion, all his protests in the play are passive in nature. The people whom he writes for do not identify a kindred soul in him. He is merely a Westernized caricature to them. The aspiring dramatist meets rejection even when it comes to his love for Sankari. She favours the interest of theatre over his love. He walks out of The Great Bengal Opera and is forced to eke out a living by caring for horses at a stable. Priyanath apparently fails to realize his ambition of joining the league of Madhusudan Dutt or Dinabandhu Mitra as a writer inspiring his people with patriotism. Yet we must acknowledge that he plays a substantial role in the transformation that we witness in the functioning of The Great Bengal Opera. He might not be present when Benimadhab finally assimilates courage to choose Titumir over Sadhabar Ekadasi, but he is the vanguard of the rebellion. His uncompromising commitment to the cause of his country paves the way for Benimadhab and his troupe to flash their tin swords at the British. He may have lost Sankari in the ephemeral world, but we find her joining the actors on stage from her position in the audience to recite lines from Priyanath’s Titumir. She never forgets to name him before Birkrishna in spite of the latter’s physical abuse of her. Priyanath may rest assured that he has left an indelible impression in the minds of his erstwhile colleagues at The Great Bengal Opera. And through him, Dutt exemplifies the ideal transformation of a West-brainwashed Indian into a true patriot concerned about his countrymen’s appalling conditions. The women in Tiner Taloyar remind us of the position of women in the contemporary world of theatre. Women from respectable households were not allowed to act on stage. The resulting void was filled by ‘disreputable’ workers from the red-light area. Theatre in India owes its origin partly to these countless unheralded heroines who dedicated themselves to the service of theatre, often at the cost of their selfrespect. Basundhara, the leading actress of The Great Bengal Opera, was forced by circumstances to make a living in the flesh trade before she joined the theatre. Dutt records a glaring double standard in the attitude of the so-called aristocrats towards Basundhara. Once she is established as the leading actress of her time, the men who had once labelled her as immoral throng to the playhouse to catch a glimpse of her. She cannot accept Benimadhab’s decision to pawn Sankari for a playhouse for the company. Sadly, she cannot do anything beyond exhorting Priyanath to take Sankari away. She is forced to continue in the troupe in spite of her differences with Benimadhab as she has no alternative. She will not be accepted in respectable society in spite of her success on stage. Benimadhab finds a new heroine when he accidentally meets the vegetable seller Mayna (analogous to Shaw’s Pygmalion). His astute training, combined with Basundhara’s motherly affection and care, transforms her into the phenomenal actress Sankari. Upon achieving success, she loses her class solidarity entirely. She expresses disgust at the poor people who beg on the streets. She ridicules her old friend, the scavenger Mathur. She revels at the prospect of a struggle between the British police

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and hundreds of unfed Indians who join to protest against atrocities of the government. When Priyanath voices his anger against the British in eloquent language, she lauds him for playing his theatrical part perfectly. She takes her life on stage for reality. When Benimadhab decides to sell her to buy a playhouse of theirs, she protests vehemently. For a moment, it seems that the vegetable seller of yore has suddenly reappeared. We find a rustic, uncouth vehemence in her condemnation of Benimadhab’s arrangement. Even her language and pronunciation reflect the typical dialect of her days as a vegetable seller. This mood of protest changes when Basundhara asks her to rescind her fame and join Priyanath. Sankari expresses her fear of sinking back into poverty. She loves the fame and glamour associated with the world of theatre too much to live in poverty with Priyanath. It is easy to blame Sankari for a compromising attitude at this juncture. The sympathetic audience will consider the social barriers that she has successfully transcended. Her ‘failing’ is no more than a human desire for security. We discern her old vehemence when Benimadhab decides not to stage Titumir. Her mentor is unable to respond to her sharp criticism: Sankari: You had sold me for the sake of theatre. What interest drives you now to sell your theatre?45

Sankari’s career seems all but over as she sits beside Birkrishna to watch The Great Bengal Opera perform Sadhabar Ekadasi. She registers her final emphatic protest in spite of the limitations imposed upon her. As Benimadhab shifts from Sadhabar Ekadasi to the heroic patriotism of Titumir, she joins the rest of the cast to recite her designated lines in that play from her seat in the audience. Birkrishna can do nothing but prepare to leave the house in ignominy. Finally, Sankari is able to embrace the contrary aspects of her character to evolve into an enduring representation of heroism. Tiner Taloyar is one of Dutt’s few plays that were critically acclaimed as well as popular. The title, “Tin Sword” in English translation, evokes in its artifice the ineffectuality of the theatre in relation to contemporary political issues. The politics of the play has no apparent contemporary relevance, but remains hidden within its nineteenth-century backdrop. However, as discussed above, Tiner Taloyar is an enduring representation of social forces in action. This contributes to its popularity among the general populace. The politically provocative, anti-imperialist message is conveyed through Titumir, the play within the play within the play, while Tiner Taloyar apparently stays distant from the exigencies of contemporary politics. Unless our social structure is fundamentally altered, the political message in Tiner Taloya¯r will continue to be relevant.46 The historical Jatra play Sanyasir Tarabari (The Sword of the Sanyasi), first performed by Loknatya on 24 September 1972 at Biswarupa, Calcutta, presents a group of sanyasis who rise up in arms against the might of the British East India Company. Led by Kripananda, the sanyasi rebels exemplify heroic courage and selfsacrifice amid overwhelming odds. Not surprisingly, the rebels are defeated at the 45

Ibid., 134. For a useful discussion on the play, see Kuntal Mukhopadhyay, Utpal Dutter Tiner Taloyar: Ekti Bhashya (Kolkata: Ratnavali, 2004).

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end. In his detailed account of the struggle, Dutt examines the genesis of a rebellion. A close reading of Sanyasir Tarabari helps us understand the circumstances which engender a rebel. We generally associate superhuman courage with rebels as they do not hesitate to sacrifice their lives for the cause of freedom. Jagai, who later becomes Kripananda’s aide Ramananda, is actually a poor villager who has helplessly watched his wife and daughter starve to death. Debi Chaudhurani, part of Kripananda’s rebel group, was once deputed to manage the administration of certain villages on behalf of her husband. She was robbed of her legitimate rights over her subjects on account of concocted charges of immoral behaviour. In addition to losing her position, she was unceremoniously cast out of her village. Even her infant son was taken away from her. The other rebels too have histories of personal tragedy. Dutt suggests that the fearlessness in these rebels is not innate. It has been ingrained in them through numerous experiences of loss. They have nothing more to lose and, consequently, are liberated from the fear of loss. This allows them to stand up to the might of the British cannons with their crude weapons. Only a handful of these fearless warriors offer stern opposition to the famed company soldiers. Ramananda explains to his compatriot Cherag Ali that the source of their strength is their fearlessness. They have suffered the worst forms of exploitation and even experienced death of their near and dear ones at close quarters. They have nothing more to lose to the British. We are introduced to Jagai on the streets of Bajpur village as he carries his starving daughter. His wife has already died of hunger. The scene unfolds a grotesque picture of the suffering of the poor villagers. Sasanka Datta, the local landlord, conspires with the company to multiply his profits at the cost of innocent lives. He hoards all food grains so that the prices escalate to facilitate the increase of his profits. Jagai frantically looks for a handful of rice as his daughter slowly embraces death. He is ready even to kill his friend Sadir who is found smuggling a handful of rice into the village for his own dying infant son. Later, Sadir brings the rice back to Jagai as he finds his son already dead. Jagai cannot make use of the food as his daughter too is dead by then. In a heart-rending scene, we see Jagai feeding himself with the handful of rice even as he wails hysterically. Dutt successfully conveys the intensity of the suffering that Jagai has experienced. As he transforms himself into a heartless rebel warrior, these experiences fan his uncompromising hatred for his adversaries. Ramananda pledges himself as an ascetic who renounces all worldly ties. Like his compatriots, he is devoted to the sole motive of achieving freedom for his motherland. However, there are instances where we find him unable to honour his vow. Bhabataran, a villager, is lured into becoming an informer to the British in return for money. The idealistic rebels, unaware of his treachery, keep divulging vital information to him. Ramananda discovers Bhabataran’s treachery. The rebels unanimously decide to put him to death. The manner chosen by Ramananda in the execution of this sentence disturbs the audience. He derives bestial pleasure in slowly plunging his knife into Bhabataran’s body. He sees his victim’s oozing blood as a source of unaccountable joy:

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Ramananda [to Bhabataran]: Blood! I wish to see more of your blood! (strikes him again and again) I will lace your body in honey so that ants tear into your flesh. They will tear your eyes out as you shout helplessly with your hands tied up.47

Ramananda confesses that at that moment he is not human, but a base creature given over to lust for the enemy’s blood. He calls himself a “thunderbolt of hatred”. Kripananda points out that his devilish lust is contrapuntal to his ascetic vow of nonattachment to the ephemeral ties of the world. Ramananda’s objective of exacting revenge overwhelms the greater objective of freedom that the rebels are committed to. Destruction of adversaries is merely a means to an end for the rebels. It is a necessary evil. Ramananda unfortunately sees this as his ultimate goal. His overwhelming hatred makes him a misanthrope who will find it difficult to survive once the war is over. The rebels’ driving force is their love for their fellow countrymen. Ramananda’s anger and sense of hatred is so acute that it obliterates his ability to love: Ramananda [to Kripananda]: I will not live once the war is over. I will have to die. Do not worry about my soul, I do not have one. I am only a sword in your hands. Can a piece of steel have emotions? Its ultimate glory is in spilling the blood of the enemy.48

His deep-seated hatred for the British (and their Indian allies) is born out of his experiences. He has witnessed the intensity of their torture at close quarters. The graphic description that he provides of the pile of young women—raped and murdered—exhibited by the British soldiers as proof of their might provides some insight into his mind. He loves his countrymen too intensely. As a result, his hatred for their oppressors is equally uncompromising. Unlike Kripananda or the other sanyasis, he is unable to transcend the drives of his own senses. Ramananda’s ‘failure’ to adhere strictly to the codes set for the rebels makes him more human. His preoccupation with the thought of causing injury to his adversaries debilitates his natural humanistic impulses. When he goes to Sasanka’s place in disguise to learn of the secret plans of the British, he does not think it essential to enquire about Debi Chaudhurani’s son Gaurdas in spite of visiting the very house where Gaur is held in passive captivity. It does not seem to bother him that the news of her son’s well-being will bring Debi immeasurable comfort. Ramananda’s world revolves around battle alone. The humane urge of carrying tidings of comfort for a helpless mother seems to have deserted him. He functions merely like a machine programmed to cause maximum damage to the enemy camp. Ramananda’s subhuman behaviour is absolved somewhat by his love for Debi. Both have vowed to live the life of sages devoted to the sole objective of winning freedom for their motherland. Hence, it is impossible for either of them to profess their feelings publicly. Ramananda is unable to conform to the strict codes of conduct prescribed for the sanyasi brotherhood. As he explains to Debi moments after he has confessed his feelings for her in private, a vow of non-attachment is not always enough to tame the impulses of one’s mind. Not everybody can replicate Kripananda’s surreal 47 48

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 414. Ibid., 415.

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discipline. The uncompromising warrior-sage in Ramananda resides in close proximity to the lover in him. The presence of these mutually contradictory aspects of personality makes him one of us. He is heroic but not perfect. Kripananda’s unwavering perfection, on the other hand, keeps him at a distance from us. Ramananda promises to take Debi’s advice and bury his feelings forever as it may impede the path to their greater objective. His discovery of love in his relationship with her certainly ennobles him. Towards the end, he endangers his own life in rescuing Gaurdas and his grandmother Mahakali from the clutches of Sasanka. Once the operation is completed successfully, he subjects Sasanka to the torturous death which the latter had planned for Gaurdas. He wilfully surrenders himself to the British officer Renel after finishing his task. The dramatist makes it evident that he could have escaped arrest with ease, but he chooses to surrender in spite of knowing that he will be sentenced to death. The circumstances that lead to the end of Ramananda’s life add another dimension to his character. He exclaims with pride that the sight of his corpse dangling from the noose will render him immortal among his countrymen. At this point in time, his life seems to lack purpose. He cannot hope to live a life of emotional fulfilment with Debi Chaudhurani. The rebels reject him as a monster who seeks pleasure in torturing the enemy. Ramananda also realizes that their war against the British is about to end in failure. By his own admission before Kripananda, there is hardly any reason for him to live once the war is over. He is able to massacre the enemy, but he lacks the means to aid in the building of a new nation which is free in the true sense of the term. Thus, he seeks a noble death in the service of his countrymen. The English officer Renel has other ideas. He poisons Ramananda to an ignominious death, shorn of all glory that the rebel had dreamt of. Ramananda’s quest for immortality is perhaps unbecoming of his position as a sanyasi who has volunteered to sacrifice everything, including his life, in the service of his nation. As suggested in some of the events discussed earlier, his indoctrination into the cult of non-attachment and selflessness seems incomplete. Yet, we must admit that these ‘failures’ render the character human. We are able to identify with his idealistic designs as well as the obstacles that he faces, both from within his own persona and the enemies outside. The characterization of Debi Chaudhurani sparks our interest for reasons not very different from those in the case of Ramananda. Her name adds to a long list of powerful women characters in Dutt’s theatre. These women are not prescribed mere supporting roles. Characters like Krishnabai in Kallol, Indrani in Suryasikar or Mayna and Basundhara in Tiner Taloyar secure a permanent place in our hearts and minds. Their roles are not contingent upon male characters. Debi’s prowess as a guerilla fighter is an asset to the rebels. Her task of making it to Kripananda’s clan is more difficult in comparison with that of the other members of the brotherhood. As a woman in nineteenth-century Bengal, she would have been confined within the four walls of her house. She proves to be a challenge to the establishment even before she joins the rebels. She is deputed by her husband Brajeshwar, who works in Calcutta, to administer certain villages. As a talukdar or local administrator, it would have been natural for Brajeshwar in the given sociocultural milieu to choose a male hand to run the administration in his absence. However, he chooses his wife Praphullamani (who becomes the rebel Debi Chaudhurani). Dutt stresses Praphullamani’s efficiency

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in performing her designated role adroitly. She is already marked as different even before she joins the clan of Kripananda. Her mastery of guerilla warfare elevates her almost to the status of a myth among the villagers as well as the British officers. Like Ramananda, there are certain qualities in Debi which are not in keeping with the lifestyle that the rebels volunteer to live. She is unable to outgrow her attachment to her son Gaurdas. The sly British officers attempt to take advantage of her weakness by laying a trap for her using Gaurdas as bait. Their vile plan would have succeeded, had Ramananda not intervened in time. Debi is unable to overcome her motherly instincts entirely. To her, nothing is as important as the well-being of her son. While such an instinct may be out of place in a sanyasi pledged to non-attachment, the mother in Debi reminds us that she is only human. She is simultaneously a mother, an ascetic, and a rebel warrior. Her response to Ramananda’s unequivocal profession of love throws further light on her nature. Initially, she advises him to stop thinking about her as the noble cause they have espoused does not allow them to indulge in romance. When she meets Ramananda in prison before his impending execution, she seems keen to hear that he is courting death as he is unable to bear her rejection. Such a validation as another person’s emotional anchorage would nurture her sense of ego. She has not been able to transcend all worldly ties. She is guilty of exhibiting an urge for self-satisfaction. As discussed in relation to Ramananda earlier, such ‘imperfections’ lend verisimilitude to the character. Ramananda and Debi Chaudhurani present before the audience the impossibility of limiting oneself to a single identity. Both of them exemplify dialectical nature. Like Tiner Taloya¯r, Sanyasir Tarabari, too, is apparently unrelated to contemporary politics. However, Dutt, in his characterizations of Ramananda and Debi, tutors us in the making of a political rebel. Neither of these characters is endowed with special leadership qualities at the beginning. They suffer at the hands of the British and their Indian accomplices like the other villagers. They acquire fearlessness through the experience of acute sorrow. They do not, however, seek to become exemplars of individual heroism. Rather, they join the masses and aid in the organization of a mass movement against the exploiters. Ramananda and Debi inspire the proletariat to rise up in rebellion against exploitation because they appear similar to them. Their imperfections help the audience identify with them in real-life contexts. In contrast to such dialectical characters stand the likes of Kripananda and Warren Hastings. Both of them are rigidly one dimensional. It is as difficult to live up to the goodness exemplified by Kripananda as it is to fathom the depths to which Hastings can stoop to safeguard the interests of the company. Their commitment to their chosen paths is unwavering, rendering them abstract representations of certain qualities. They do not capture our imagination as characters of flesh and blood with unique personalities. On the other hand, the British officer Renel undergoes a transformation in the course of the play. At the beginning, he seems to be the only British officer who cringes at the thought of subjecting the natives to unnecessary torture. Yet, Hastings’s manipulation succeeds in brainwashing him into an insane quest for immortality. He chooses an unethical path to etch his name in the annals of history. He wishes to be remembered as the one who crushed the valiant rebels and ensured the perpetuation

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of the company’s rule. The root cause of Renel’s fall from the position of a compassionate human being to that of a puppet administered by Hastings lies in his own character. He tries his best to keep himself asunder from the various injustices perpetrated on the helpless Indians by his colleagues. He gives himself over to alcohol and opium as if in an attempt to keep his conscience from revolting. He does not stand up firmly against the British measures in spite of his high rank in the administration. His ability to see through the vile nature of Sasanka proves that he has a keen insight into human nature, coupled with his position of standing within the establishment. Yet, he limits his resistance to semi-mute verbal exercise or an overindulgence in liquor and opium. His weakness, evident in shying away from injustice rather than opposing it, is exploited by Hastings. Through Renel’s degeneration, the dramatist emphasizes the need to choose sides decisively in political struggles. One who identifies evil, but, like Renel, sits on the fence and avoids decisive action, will ultimately be used by the bourgeoisie to aid their cause. Dutt’s biographical plays—Jhar (Storm, 1973, about Henry Derozio), Danrao Pathikbar and Agnisajya—occupy a special place in his oeuvre. He does not attempt to dramatize the lives of his protagonists. Rather, he chooses a specific period of their lives, where these historical characters appear with their moments of glory as well as failure. They are not deified as models of perfection. We find instances of heroism coexisting with behaviour unbecoming of their iconic status. As history does not always progress linearly, it is not difficult to identify regressive practices even in the most enlightened periods of history. Each of Dutt’s protagonists in his biographical plays represents a historical age, with its positive as well as negative associations. Here, we will study Jhar as a representative example. Henry Louis Vivian Derozio (1809–1831), the radical educationist and social reformer, is the protagonist of Dutt’s Jatra play Jhar, which was first performed on 19 September 1973 at the Ranji Stadium, Calcutta, by Loknatya. Besides Derozio, we meet his famous students (the Derozians who led the Young Bengal Movement) along with prominent figures in contemporary society like Radhakanta Deb, Ramkamal Sen, David Hare, and Rammohun Roy. Dutt presents Derozio in the final phase of his life where his zeal for reformation of a putrid society meets with orthodox opposition from the likes of Deb and Sen. Jhar hardly offers Dutt any opportunity to surprise the audience with unexpected twists in plot, as it is borrowed from well-known historical events. The action remains brisk and intense throughout. The opening scene itself is remarkably dramatic.49 The Derozians, led by Dakshinaranjan Mukhopadhyay, snatch away Saraswati as she is being led to be burnt alive on the pyre of her deceased husband. Saraswati’s brother-in-law Nahus Sharma uses the brutal practice of Sati as a façade to murder her so that he remains the sole inheritor of the deceased’s wealth. This climactic scene points to the central conflict of Jhar between the social reformers and those who wish to perpetuate superstitious belief and prejudice in order to serve their selfish interests. The scenes which follow are packed with action and short in duration. The plot is so designed that an intensely dramatic scene is followed by one that is relatively low-key, which allows the audience and actors to ‘relax’. For 49

See Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 8 (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 2009), 147 onwards.

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instance, the second scene allows the audience time to recollect their thoughts after the climactic opening. Here, Radhakanta Deb engages in discussion with Ramkamal Sen and the British police chief Mott to plot Derozio’s downfall. As discussed in the previous chapter, such a design is typical of a Jatra script. The presentation of the characters is straightforward and obvious, rather than dialectical. Villains like Nahus appear to be incarnations of the devil, completely devoid of humanity. He does not think twice before murdering his sisters-in-law for the sake of money. He forces Saraswati into establishing a sexual relation with him by torturing her young daughter in front of her eyes. He uses similar tactics to make her claim in public that she had been raped by Derozio during her stay at his house. Later, he even murders her daughter. It is impossible for the audience to locate any alluring trait in his nature. Such readily identifiable distinction in characters in terms of good and evil is typical of Jatra. Derozio, on the other hand, is an abstraction of goodness. His impeccable scholarship, progressive ideas, love for others, especially the poor and downtrodden, make him an example worthy of emulation. Dutt presents a series of events where Derozio’s near-perfect qualities as a human being are highlighted. He reprimands Dakshinaranjan when he abuses a fellow Derozian on account of his birth to supposedly lower-class parents. He is present to deliver his scheduled lecture even while the meeting convened to confirm his ouster from his teaching position at Hindu College progresses within the same premises. His relentless commitment to his cause does not waver in the face of brutal opposition. His adversaries include the most influential members of society like Radhakanta Deb, Ramkamal Sen, and the East India Company. Even the commoners, influenced by negative propaganda, turn against him. He is manhandled on several occasions, but he refuses to relent. He preserves the stones cast at him as reminders of the noble cause that he has espoused. Even on his deathbed, reduced to penury and stricken by cholera, his upright nature and commitment to his work do not desert him. However, one particular incident proves him to be a creature of flesh and blood after all. Influenced by Hare and Rammohun Roy, he opposes the marriage of his sister Emilia to Dakshinaranjan. Hare and Roy advise him to oppose the match as the marriage of a Christian woman to a Hindu Brahmin man would allow his adversaries opportunity to criticize him as a destroyer of their religious faith. For a man who exhibits such potency and originality in thought, Derozio is swayed far too easily. He fails to realize that his role in this episode becomes an obstacle to the exercise of someone else’s freedom of choice—a malady that he himself attempts to rid society of. His action on this particular occasion, where he is swayed from the path of truth by the opinion of others, certainly runs contrary to the values that he has strived hard to ingrain in his students. Thus, Dutt is able to present contrasting impulses within his protagonist, which remind us of the age that Derozio stands for. Jhar was adapted into a film in 1979. Dutt directed the screen version as well. The cast included Dutt, Rabi Ghosh, Sova Sen, Satya Bandyopadhyay, and Sumitra Mukherjee in major roles. However, the film was not a commercial success. The stage version remains the popular identifier for Jhar.

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Ebar Rajar Pala (The King’s Turn Now) forms part of Dutt’s Emergency Trilogy—a set of three plays written to critique the National Emergency (1975– 1977) promulgated during the tenure of Indira Gandhi as Prime Minister of India. The two other plays dedicated to this purpose were Barricade and Dusvapner Nagari. Ebar Rajar Pala was first performed on 6 January 1977 at Kala Mandir, Calcutta. This political satire represents the regime of Indira Gandhi in the form of an allegory. We are reminded of Brecht’s The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui (1958), which projects the rise of Adolf Hitler in a similar fashion. The subtitle of the play (A Play Meant for 1977) clearly indicates that Dutt intends to comment on the Emergency through the allegory used. The kingdom of Mechhagir becomes a microcosmic representation of India in the tumultuous years of the Emergency.50 Ebar Rajar Pala opens with the members of Nani Adhikari’s theatre troupe rehearsing a mythological play they plan to enact as guests of Tridib Singha, the ruler of Mechhagir estate. Bangeshwar Singha, or Banku as he is popularly known, is usually assigned the impersonation of various royal personages by Adhikari. In the opening scene, he comes across as a laughable character. His claim of having blue blood in his veins is not taken seriously by any of his co-actors. He cannot pronounce even slightly difficult words. He is unlettered and relies completely on prompts made by the director in performing his roles. Dutt seems to be consciously facetious in his presentation of these actors. He tries hard to render the atmosphere light-hearted, so that he may capture the attention of his audience. The political implications suggested would have no impact on tired minds. The elaborate scene where the actors hide the rebel Bhishmalochan Das under the carpet is designed to draw visceral humour. We see the actors as comic caricatures whose stage antics engender rib-tickling laughter. Banku does not appear capable of unleashing a reign of terror where even basic rights of citizens are usurped by the state. Thus, his fearful transformation strikes us with greater emphasis. Banku is so engrossed in his theatrical roles that he seems to have lost the ability to distinguish between fact and fiction. Once kingship is thrust upon his shoulders, he approaches his duty as an opportunity to extend his roles as monarchs in various plays beyond the limitations of the stage. The fact that he must now deal with real problems of his subjects instead of set plots, is lost on him. He is busy drawing parallels between his stage roles and his actual position as the new king of Mechhagir estate. As his first royal decree, he orders the presence of an ornamental announcer to herald his arrival and demands footwear in tune with his practice in Jatra plays. His ridiculous incompetence is evident the moment he is exposed to administrative difficulties.51 The Diwan, the manager, and the army commandant of the state (respectively, Harakishor, Dalgovinda, and Brigadier Burman) have chosen Banku in full awareness of his unsuitability to the post. They want him to be a puppet in their hands as they control the administration of the state. Banku’s formal incompetence will thus facilitate their administrative hegemony. In his days as a touring

50

Dutt discovered an uncanny similarity between his characters in the play and the rulers of India in the 1970s. See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 95. 51 See Utpal Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 6 (Kolkata: Mitra & Ghosh, 1999), 137 onwards.

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actor, Banku’s actions used to be controlled by the director. Harakishor, Dalgovinda, and Brigadier Burman seek to assume a similar position in his new life as king. When we meet Banku for the first time, he appears to be sensitive to the exploitation of the poor and helpless farmers by the ruler Tridib Singha. He risks his own life to protect Bhishmalochan, the leader of the farmers in their struggle against Tridib. It is difficult to decipher the reason that motivates the same person to rob the common citizens of basic rights, once he succeeds Tridib. Banku’s autocratic behaviour owes its origin to his class position. The proletariat—the class with which Banku identifies during his days as a touring actor—suffers immeasurably at the hands of the bourgeoisie. Once the equations of power are reversed, the proletarian may cause as much injury as he was once subjected to. If unchallenged might is thrust upon an undeserving candidate, it is often put to ill use. This is especially true of the uninitiated proletarians who are unaware of the steps that lead to a systematic abolishment of the exploitative order. They assume that merely overturning hierarchies will propel them towards liberty. We are reminded of Bibhuti in Tagore’s play Muktadhara, who abuses absolute power in a similar fashion. Banku has himself been a victim of the system. He cannot even afford to eat well on account of his poverty and collapses during rehearsals. He appears to avenge himself on the system in a show of vendetta once fate hands him a chance. It may be argued that the seeds of autocratic behaviour lie latent within Banku’s own nature. His favourite role as an actor seems to be the mythological king Kansa who was infamous for the atrocities that he perpetrated on his subjects. His other impersonations on stage also comprise powerful monarchs. The ease with which he slips into the shoes of Kansa is a clue to his subconscious desire for unchallenged authority. Dutt draws a distinct parallel between Banku and Hitler, the archetype of dictators. Banku does not hesitate to consign books to flames in order to keep himself and his colleagues warm in the winter. Nani [to Banku]: What are you doing? You are destroying our literature and culture! You are setting fire to our civilization! … Bhishmalochan [to Banku]: You are behaving like Hitler.52

It is difficult to justify Bhishmalochan’s remark here. Though there is absolute truth in his statement, it is not very likely that an unlettered farmer from a small state in pre-Independence Bengal would be able to draw such an accurate analogy to German history during the Second World War. Dutt’s determination in portraying Banku as a potential autocrat is evident. Banku’s apparently seamless transition into the role of a dictator does not remain merely metaphorical. Rather, it turns visual when we see Banku behave, and even dress, like Hitler. The dramatist draws our attention to the interplay between theatre and politics, that is a fundamental theme of Ebar Rajar Pala. Banku’s ease in playing Kansa bears testimony to his politics, as discussed earlier. Here, as he strives to ‘become’ Hitler, his politics is manifested through exaggerated performance. In our contemporary world, political leaders turn into mass appeasers for the sake of political mileage. Their electoral campaigns, as well as other political activity which brings 52

Ibid., 235.

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them into direct contact with the masses, involve performance with an eye fixed on mass sentiment. When they base their hysteric arguments on fictional data and hurl false promises at the uncritical masses, they are well aware that they are fooling them; just as performers on stage attempt to do. Dutt explores this similarity in his characterization of Banku. The tragic potential of Banku’s actions is not far to seek, though Dutt wraps his work in comedy. He brutally stifles all opposition, arrests potential dissenters, and does not hesitate to invite the British army to usurp the kingdom in order to serve his selfish interests. The manner in which Banku agitates the crowd against his adversaries is reminiscent of popular rabble-rousing techniques used by dictators. His speeches are shorn of merit but appear fiery. He lacks the necessary expertise to prepare his own speeches and depends on Nani Adhikari’s prompts as he faces the crowd from the pulpit. The comic speech where he tries his best to detail the so-called 72-point agenda reflects his callousness. In his entire speech, he does not say anything of merit besides repeated clarion calls inviting the general populace to work without any expectations of benefits from the state in the near future. Owing to his inability to pronounce difficult words, he is unable to project some of the ideas set down by Nani in the speech. These issues, like the proposal in support of state-enforced family planning, serve as chilling reminders of the situation in India during the Emergency. When his proposal is opposed and rendered redundant in the elected Council of the People, he arrests all the opposing members. He drastically alters the constitution of the state to suit his dictatorship. He even hatches a plot to fool the common people into believing that Emergency must be promulgated. The circumstances that lead to Banku’s fall from the helm of power add to our understanding of a dictatorial regime. Banku lives in eternal dread of losing power. He cannot trust even his close aides. A certain section of the Council of People actually votes in his favour, though his proposal (to terminate the payment of any bonus amount to workers) is defeated. He arranges for a farcical re-election where only those who support his proposal are allowed to vote. Strangely, he feels the need to supply them with sealed envelopes where an affirmative response is already recorded. This, Banku claims, is the true spirit of democracy facilitated by the system of secret ballot! His manic lack of trust reflects his awareness of the fragility of his position as king. He is not equipped to deal with most problems that an administrator is meant to address. At the same time, he cannot afford to form an advisory board to come to his rescue as he is afraid that his unchallenged dominance may then cease to exist. Thus, Banku is forced to rely completely on Nani Adhikari in order to run the administration of the state. Such blind faith costs him dearly as Nani proves instrumental in dethroning him. He may dress in the manner of Hitler and appear fearsome to the common people of Mechhagir, but he is ultimately a puppet in the hands of others. Dalgovinda, Harakishor, and Burman had planned to make Banku dance to their tune. Once they discover that he has outgrown their influence, they waste no time in switching allegiance to Banku’s enemy Tridib Singha. A dictator always relies on stooges in an attempt to consolidate his reign of terror. Often, his most reliable aides turn against him and bring about his downfall. Banku’s fate epitomizes the tragic end that awaits all autocrats. We might even argue that Banku’s

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fall bears an uncanny resemblance to the death of Indira Gandhi who was to be assassinated by her bodyguards seven years after the play was written. Banku is merely an automaton controlled by greater powers from outside. In Ebar Rajar Pala, the capitalist businessman Kishorilal Chamaria seems to be the ultimate source of power. He sponsors the government and creates a dictator to facilitate his usurpation of national assets. Once he discovers that his interests are jeopardized, he does not waste time in buying the services of Tridib Singha, who replaces Banku. Dutt intended to draw parallels between the real world of politics and the makebelieve world of Jatra. The dictator’s characteristic gait, his manner of oration, style of accepting the greetings of the crowd, or the practice of ineffectual, customary cabinet meetings are not far removed from rehearsals in Jatra. Banku readily metamorphoses from his appearance in theatre costume to one in a typical politician’s attire. However, the atmosphere of mistrust and terror that characterizes a country suffering a dictator is not adequately represented in Banku’s hilarious mannerisms. The apparent story involving Banku’s histrionics gets too extended for the emphasis to shift to the allegorical meaning of the play. It is undeniable that Banku’s behaviour serves as a model to understand the making of a dictator’s consciousness. But, the dramatist, in choosing a style (borrowed from the Jatra) that would primarily entertain the audience, is unable to balance it with his political purpose. Dutt’s political purpose in Eba¯r Ra¯ja¯r Pa¯la¯ is to help his audience understand the sociopolitical context of the making of a dictator. His overreliance on entertainment and visceral humour encourages the audience to look at Eba¯r Ra¯ja¯r Pa¯la¯ as a farce rather than a grim political allegory that is presented through comic sequences.53 Dutt turned to events from India’s freedom struggle for the raw material of several of his plays, forcing audiences to reflect, and quite often arrive at alternative explanations of these episodes. He attempted to enhance the political consciousness of his audience by inspiring them to look at events from history in their proper sociopolitical contexts. In Titumir, he looks at certain events in the life of the freedom fighter Mir Nisar Ali (1782–1831). Titumir, as Nisar Ali was popularly called, was born to Mir Hasan Ali and Abida Khatun at Chandpur village in the 24-Parganas district of Bengal. Titumir grew up to lead the unlettered villagers in their struggle for justice against oppressive landlords like Krishnadeb Ray of Punra. Simultaneously, he led his band of followers to challenge the British forces under the command of Crawford Pyron, the Resident Agent of the East India Company. A great deal of controversy surrounds Titumir’s role in our freedom struggle. He has been accused of religious intolerance against his Hindu followers. Even among Muslims, he has been belittled as a Wahabi (inspired by the Arabian religious reformer Abdul Wahab, who was not popular among followers of mainstream Islam, especially the Sunnis). Dedicated research on his life has salvaged his image to an extent. Titumir’s identity as a freedom fighter has superseded his association with the propagation of Islam. Dutt

53

Dutt himself realized this flaw later. See Utpal Dutt, cyclostyled report of the director presented at the Annual General Meeting of the PLT, Calcutta, 25 September 1977.

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attempts to consolidate the image of the rebel leader and represent him as a universally loved, gallant fighter who laid down his life for the sake of his motherland. Such an endeavour on the part of the dramatist reflects a significant dialectical relationship between a historical figure and his popular image among the masses. In his historical plays like Titumir, Dutt attempted to highlight the martial history of the Indian freedom struggle. He was vocal in his disapproval of Gandhian nonviolence, as he believed that the portrayal of the Indian masses as traditionally nonviolent aided the class interest of the bourgeoisie. If the proletariat can be brainwashed into believing that they have, historically, never taken up arms to protest against injustice, they will hesitate to organize an armed socialist rebellion. However, a quick glance at our history reminds us of the glorious heritage of several indigenous communities who have, for centuries, believed it honourable to die on the battlefield rather than live as slaves. The Indian ruling classes have projected non-violence as an ideal to serve their class interests. Thus, political theatre must seek to destroy such dubious presentation of history by emphasizing the martial tradition of the Indian masses, especially their numerous lionhearted rebellions against British imperialists. Plays like Titumir serve this significant political purpose. In the printed edition of Titumir, Dutt refers to works of historians who researched the life of Titumir and arrived at conclusions based on empirical evidence. The events in the play draw from these works to gain credibility. Dutt, however, does not make his play a mere record of historical facts. He dramatizes the events and even departs from facts to achieve his purpose of portraying Titumir as a legendary warrior, inspirational to generations.54 These alterations represent a definite attempt to magnify the cruelty of Crawford Pyron and garner greater sympathy in favour of Titumir. Titumir was first performed on 26 January 1978 at Rabindra Sadan, Calcutta. The title character is presented before us as a hermit who has renounced all his belongings for the sake of his unwavering commitment to a greater cause. He does not desire to leave behind disciples or devotees. He only intends to be the guiding light before men and women who are ready to sacrifice their life for the cause of Independence. Freedom ensures dignity for all human beings. Titumir wishes to snatch this dignity for his fellow countrymen by force. Religion plays a defining role in Titumir’s life as he grows into an uncompromising warrior. It is reported that Titumir had met the rebel fighter Syed Brelviraji during his pilgrimage to Mecca. Brelviraji explained to him the duty of a Muslim in the light of the struggle for Independence. Titumir was made to realize that one cannot call oneself a true devotee of Allah unless he has successfully relieved his country from the yoke of slavery, or perished in the attempt: Brelviraji: One who cannot die in Jihad, manages to merely exist under the boots of foreign rulers, what right does he have to even touch the Holy Quran? One who is unable to provide sanctuary to hundreds of Hindus, has no right to utter the holy name of Allah. Don’t you have a sword? Dip it in blood. If you can’t win freedom for your country, perish in the attempt; but do not utter the name of Allah as a slave.55

54 55

On this, see Anunay Chattopadhyay, Introduction, Natak Samagra, vol. 6, 16. Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 6, 315.

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We find that religion becomes a catalyst to instigate Titumir in his lifelong struggle against the British. The war of Independence is seen as a Holy Crusade where one prefers honourable death to failure. Religion assumes the role of a liberating force which helps Titumir and his followers discover their inner strength. Their devotion to god makes them fearless and enables them to challenge the might of the British army in spite of their crude weapons and paucity of personnel. Titumir’s sense of duty as a devoted Muslim ensures his universal acceptance as a rebel leader. The Hindus join his brotherhood with equal enthusiasm. Religion facilitates camaraderie among Titumir’s followers rather than fostering differences. On the other hand, the landlords, complicit with the British, use religion as a divisive force. They levy taxes on their Muslim subjects for the long beard they wear. Such actions serve the interests of the British in ensuring a lack of fellow feeling among the Hindus and Muslims. Dutt’s representation of the role of religion in this play deserves special attention now, when merciless terrorism and crimes against humanity are validated in the name of commitment to principles of religion. At the beginning, Titumir organizes his troops in preparation for guerilla attacks on the British soldiers. He waits for the appropriate time and opportunity with a cold and calculating mind unaffected by emotional upheavals. He refuses to attack the enemy camp in haste even when they murder his comrade Aminullah or kidnap Chapa, the daughter of his friend Aswini. He is convinced to depart from his plan of action by Miskin Shah, the strolling sage who strives to awaken hatred for the colonial rulers across the country. Interestingly, Miskin turns to religion in order to force Titumir to budge from his position. He opines that Titumir’s date with martyrdom is inevitable. He cites the examples of Christ and Hassan—both martyrs for the cause of religion—to prove to Titumir that he will not be able to escape his fate. Shortly after this episode, Titumir initiates an unrelenting barrage of attacks on the British troops at different places across the district. His followers emerge victorious in most of these clashes. His success in these battles ultimately results in the courageous but foolhardy decision to build a castle of bamboos and pose a direct challenge to the enemy. As an uncompromising warrior, he seems a mechanized abstraction, shorn of all human emotions. Dutt throws light on the changed nature of Titumir when the rebels prepare to attack the landlord Debnath Ray. Debnath happens to be the son of Titumir’s trusted compatriot Janjali, who was the mistress of the landlord’s father. Miskin Shah categorically states that in war there is no place for human emotions. Even the love of a mother for her son is insignificant in the grand scheme of all-encompassing destruction. Titumir does not express any emotional turmoil at the knowledge that he is about to kill the son of a trusted friend whom he considers his own sister and voice of conscience. He meets his inevitable end fighting the British gallantly from his bamboo castle. He rejects Miskin Shah’s proposal to escape the castle before the enemy opens fire. The urge for martyrdom and associated immortality as a hero seems to have got the better of his shrewdness as a warrior. He is keen to embrace death as he knows that it will guarantee him a place in the hearts of his countrymen:

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Titumir [to Miskin]: How can you propose that I should escape? Martyrdom! Martyrdom! Hadn’t you suggested that I must embrace crucifixion, wasn’t I supposed to die on the fields of Karbala parched of water? I had wanted to fight differently … You forced me to wear the crown of thorns and commit myself to the suicidal tactics of frontal confrontation … (with a smile on his face) I will not escape because all my compatriots at Narkelberia will die within an hour. I am their comrade, where will I go?56

Titumir’s valiant courage certainly deserves to be lauded. Perhaps, he would have served the rebellion better had he agreed to Miskin Shah’s plan and decided to escape. In the larger scheme of the anti-colonial struggle, the elevation of an individual to the status of a demigod is not significant. This might be considered an aberration in Titumir’s unwavering commitment to the rebellion. For once, he seems to value his own desire for grandeur over the cause of his country. He falls prey to the universal human desire for immortality. This might be considered a failing, but it is certainly one that endears us to the character. Captain Richard Brandon, commander of the Bengal Army, comes across as distinctly different from the other British officers at the beginning. This is especially evident with respect to his attitude to women. While Pyron or Alexander look at women as objects to be used as pawns in the clash for power between Titumir’s followers and the British army, Brandon treats them with respect. He claims to have loved a Bengali girl called Suryamani in Calcutta. Contrary to the common practice among British soldiers of keeping Indian mistresses, he did not force himself on the woman to satisfy his lust. He even challenged Barrister Cartier to a duel on account of Suryamani. Such an action hints at the fact that he actually loved her. Further, he allowed Suryamani to marry the man she loved: Brandon: I did not marry Suryamani because she did not love me. I did not allow Cartier to force himself upon her as she did not love him either. Shouldn’t her opinion be considered? I gave her over to the man she loved.57

Brandon’s sense of respect for women is also evident in his treatment of Aswini’s daughter Chapa. The British plot to kidnap Chapa to make a statement before the rebels. Brandon decides to keep the helpless woman in his abode but, surprisingly, does not abuse her. In fact, he treats her with respect and even love. Brandon reminds us of Captain Renel in Sanyasir Tarabari. He seems to break stereotypes. However, he is unable to maintain his apparent superiority to the likes of Crawford Pyron. He eventually becomes a bloodthirsty monster who takes vicarious pleasure in ordering his soldiers to rape all young women at Gokhna or in finding their mutilated corpses hung from trees. On being questioned by Chapa about such heinous acts, he claims that Titumir and his soldiers forced him to change. He is a victim of circumstances. Chapa [to Brandon]: Where is the man that I knew? Where is the Brandon who loved, treated women with respect and compassion? Brandon: Shut up! (in anger) Do not remind me of the past, do not remind me I was once a man! … I was a civilized human being. I read Walter Scott regularly. I used to play the 56 57

Ibid., 361. Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 6, 309.

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piano … my fingers must have now turned into dry twigs adept only at handling guns and swords … at the service of the Company. A civilized man is now a hired murderer working for traders!58

Before he is killed by the rebels, Brandon is accosted by Titumir, who reminds him that his erstwhile reputation as a respectable human being does not justify his misdeeds. He may not have been as evil as Pyron or Alexander at the outset, but he had sided with them. He lacked the strength of character and honesty to side with the just cause of the rebels. Ultimately, the all-encompassing evil represented by Pyron influences him as well. Dutt reminds us that passive goodness is not enough to fight the forces of evil. One must foster unequivocal hatred for the class enemy and ultimately transform the collective hatred of the oppressed into a decisive rebellion, in order to ensure success. Ajker Shahjahan (Today’s Shahjahan) presents one of Dutt’s most complex explorations of character in its protagonist Kunjabihari Chakrabarti. Unlike Kallol or Angar, this play was not a sensational stage success.59 Whenever a director as politically conscious as Dutt comes out with a new production, he is expected to churn out plays which are overtly political. Critics as well as spectators look forward to the aggressive propaganda that we come across in so many of Dutt’s plays. We often forget that an artist is also committed to his individual conscience which imagines and dreams. It is possible to write ‘personal’ drama without ideological compromise. Ajker Shahjahan premiered at the University Institute Hall in Calcutta on 20 April 1985. The play opens with Kunjabihari reminiscing about his career as a celebrated theatre actor in the company of his friend Nanigopal. Both are inebriated. Kunja’s thirst for perfection has not deserted him in spite of the time that has elapsed since his retirement from the stage. He corrects Nanigopal’s pronunciation, regardless of the fact that they are not performing before an audience. Kunja recreates his immortal stage roles with Nanigopal doubling up as the audience and the sole co-actor. That they are presently in Kunja’s dilapidated room, far away from the glitz of the stage and hundreds of mesmerized faces among the audience, makes no difference to Kunja’s commitment to the roles. In their interaction, we get to know of Kunja’s attention to minute details with respect to his various roles on stage. Nanigopal highlights Kunja’s supreme powers as an actor. He was one of a kind, so far ahead of his contemporaries that the audience associated certain roles with him alone. He was, quite literally, the modern Shahjahan or the modern Hastings in popular imagination. Kunja’s superiority as an actor has not obliterated his deep sense of respect for his tutors as well as his peers. His obeisance to the great actor-director Sisir Bhaduri (1889–1959) is particularly evident. He considers himself blessed for the opportunity to work alongside the legend in various plays. Based on the passionate recreation of his past stage essays and his attitude of reverence towards the rich heritage of Bengali theatre, one may deduce that he had not only been a phenomenal actor but 58

Ibid., 356. See Saubhik Raychaudhuri, “Ajker Shahjahan Prasange”, Epic Theatre, June–October 1986, 4 onwards.

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Image 3.4 PLT’S Ajker Shahjahan (1985). Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

also one who had successfully carried forward the legacy of theatre. He was steeped in heritage, yet distinguishably modern (Image 3.4). Kunja’s present state represents a stark contrast to his earlier position of prominence. He comes across as an ossified image of the past, trying his best to freeze time. He is desperate to remind himself constantly of the position that he once held. He reminds us of the man who thinks he is Henry IV, the title character of Pirandello’s play, who wishes to arrest time in a similar fashion. He, however, does not fool his co-actors into believing that he is truly mad as Pirandello’s protagonist does. As an actor, Kunja’s daily schedule involved appearing before mass audiences in order to entertain them. At the end of his life, he seems strangely reluctant to see anyone. He is so involved with the world of theatre that it has become an alternative reality for him. His obsession to remain cocooned in his own make-believe world, where intrusion by others is restricted, points to a troubled state of mind. Kunja fears that his lifestyle is not in tune with the modern, civilized way of life. He is afraid that he will be rejected from the wider world. On being requested to play the lead role in a film, Kunja expresses his anxiety before the director: Kunja [to Subrata, the director]: We, the actors of earlier generations, did not have the opportunity to mix around in civilized society. Even the relatively educated ones among us were turned away. So, I cannot assure you whether I will be able to adjust to your ways … I am a vagabond. You all are educated, civilized young men. I am afraid of my ways of life

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getting exposed before you. What if I happen to curse? I am an obsessive drunkard. What if I insult someone in an inebriated state? I am ashamed even to think of such things.60

The state in which Kunja presently finds himself is a stern reminder of the strangely paradoxical manner in which actors were treated in the society that Dutt presents before us. On the one hand, Kunja was widely regarded as a great actor whose adroit mastery of his craft attracted people from far and wide to witness the exhibition of his skill. On the other, he had to live with the ignominy of not being accepted in ‘civilized’ society. It is this helplessness which prompts him to express his anxiety before Subrata. Kunja is so immersed in the world of theatre that he cannot imagine himself outside it. This, in turn, ensures that he will always remain an outsider. Kunja’s rigorous involvement with theatre suggests that acting was not merely his profession. It was an alternative for reality. His impersonations allowed him to thrive while the world outside denied him respect. He explains his point of view to Nanigopal: Kunja: Even if you take up a role for a single performance, it is an everlasting truth for you. It is a greater truth than the real world outside the playhouse. For the actor, his position under the spotlight represents a more perfect form of ‘reality’ than the real world.61

He seems to while away time in redundant recreations of his once-popular roles. Kunja’s rejection of the present is also a representation of Dutt’s disapproval of a social order where money plays a defining role. In this context, one may think of various Shakespearean characters like Hamlet, the banished Duke in As You Like It, or Prospero in The Tempest, who retreat to an uncorrupted golden world or spend time ruminating upon the glory of the past.62 Kunja’s obsession to hold on to the past reflects upon the state of the present world, where art and culture are subservient to money. The offer of a role in a film allows him a final chance to showcase his skills as an actor. As we expect the dramatist to complete his eulogy to the actor with an account of his final grand success, the play takes a completely different turn. The director Subrata has no qualms in risking the life of the ageing actor in an attempt to ensure his shots appear more realistic. He is aware of Kunja’s acute sense of his own quality as an actor. As a perfectionist, he never settles for a compromise. Subrata preys on this attitude to force Kunja into playing a life-threatening stunt on two occasions. In consequence, Kunja survives a near-fatal fall, but suffers a loss of memory. The ending illuminates the deep recesses of Kunja’s mind. Contrary to appearances, he is far from being ‘insane’. In fact, he is able to assess the position of the actor in contemporary society better than any other character. He realizes that his present existence is no more than an attempt to hold on to the past. The essence of his existence lies in the revivals of his roles on stage. He is aware that the outside world will not accord him due respect. Once his memory fails, consequent of the fall, he is practically ‘dead’. Dutt leaves us with the tragic image of an actor helplessly waiting for the extinction of his physical being: 60

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 7, 183. Ibid., 174. 62 Dutt discusses this idea in Gadya Sangraha, 131. 61

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Kunja [to Kumkum]: I don’t even remember the names [of plays]. Subrata feels I have survived the fall. He has caused me far greater injury. He has smashed my memory. I don’t remember plays. What else remains of my life!63

In Kunja, we are able to locate loneliness and helplessness alongside a streak of mystery. Self-criticism and arrogance simultaneously reside in his nature. While his humble acknowledgement of his flaws to Subrata bears testimony to his acute sense of his own inadequacies, we cannot overlook his overbearing sense of greatness as an actor. Nanigopal advises him to stop intoxicating himself as he is about to meet a prospective employer in Subrata. Kunja—referring to himself by name—expresses astonishment at Nanigopal’s idea. He questions his friend about the rationale in requesting somebody of the stature of Kunjabihari Chakrabarti to mend his ways. It appears to us that Kunja, in his mind, is doing Subrata a favour by considering his offer. It is difficult to account for such an attitude, especially when he is starving and in dire need of employment. These qualities, one may argue, reflect the circumstances of Dutt himself. Kunja’s effortless transition from history to his own life experiences, or his slipping into quotations from plays amid daily conversation, turns our attention to the similarities between character and creator. Kunja tells his friend Nanigopal that there is a self-destructive streak in him: Kunja: If a good play runs successfully for a period of time, my hands itch to break it off and start anew. Consecutive success is an intolerable laziness.64

It is not far-fetched to think that Dutt’s attitude to successful stage productions was similar. Plays like Angar and Kallol were discontinued at the height of their popularity. Dutt did not leave behind an autobiography. Neither did he design an autobiographical character for the stage. We may claim that Kunjabihari Chakrabarti, created at the end of his most productive phase as a dramatist-director, comes closest to bridging this gap.65 Dutt’s sympathy for Kunja makes his critique of Subrata a bit too crude. The portrayal of Subrata does not convince us. The young director longs for perfection. He is even ready to sacrifice the life of a helpless old man in order to make his shot realistic. Strangely, he casts an abysmal actor as the male lead in his film. There is no evidence to suggest that he has to compromise with quality owing to pressure from the producer, or from any other source. It is difficult to account for such anomalies in the characterization. In his urge to ensure the success of his film, Subrata seems alienated from his own humanity. His human instincts like love or respect seem bulldozed by his manic obsession with his film. Representative of the state of human beings in a capitalist social structure, he lives in society but cannot think beyond his selfish urge for acquisitiveness and material success. Kumkum, who is cast by Subrata alongside Kunja, is the only one genuinely interested in the ageing actor’s welfare. Her appreciation of his skill is not cosmetic. She reveres him from the core of her heart and respects him as a mentor whose work 63

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 7, 222. Ibid. 65 Saubhik Raychaudhuri sheds light on this comparison. See his “Ajker Shahjahan Prasange”. 64

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is worthy of emulation. Besides Kunja, she is the only skilled actor on the sets of Subrata’s film. Perhaps her innate consciousness as an artist allows her to appreciate the work of another artist. Both Kunja and Kumkum live their lives in servitude to intoxicants (alcohol and drugs, respectively). This is their means to an escape from the world which does not accord them due respect. At the end, Dutt makes it amply clear that future generations of actors should look to cultivate the attitude of Kumkum in order to carve a niche for themselves. Like her mentor Kunja, Kumkum loves her art passionately. She seeks to carry the legacy of acting forward, but not at the cost of cavalier rejection of tradition. Dutt’s political purpose in A¯jker Shahjahan is served not by clarion calls for socialist rebellion, but by his attempt to educate his audience about the complexities of society. He explores deep recesses of the minds of his characters—especially that of his protagonist—to help his audience understand the plight of man in a capitalist society. Kunja’s refusal to participate in contemporary ways of life and stick to the past has its roots in capitalist exploitation. The famed actor of yore realizes that his worth as a human being in modern society—dictated, as it is, by capital—relies solely on his ‘usefulness’. At the peak of his acting career, he could single-handedly draw crowds to the playhouse. He was considered worthy of fame and attention. However, in tune with the ways of a capitalist society, his fame never translated into genuine respect for him as a human being. His value as a human being ceased to exist as soon as he, inevitably, lost his prominence as an actor. Kunja seeks sanctuary in his stage roles of yesteryears not out of some eccentricity of mind. He desperately tries to cling to these roles because he has no other way to ensure dignity of life in a capitalist society. His conscious choice represents an individual’s protest against the capitalist social order. Subrata’s treatment of Kunja serves to corroborate the validity of the latter’s understanding of society. Subrata has no qualms to admit that he does not really care whether Kunja lives or dies, provided he is able to get the old actor to act well and ensure the success of his film. Kunja is treated as capital that may be utilized to maximize profit, rather than as a human being worthy of love and respect. In our analyses above, we have seen that convincing portrayals of characters in political theatre must alert us to a character’s limitations, as much as it celebrates his grandeur. Black-and-white representation of the proletariat as good and the capitalist as evil does not convince. A revolutionary cannot appear divine or satanic; he must be a human being complete with positive qualities as well as faults. Further, the portrayal of a perfect hero breeds a misconstrued idea of society as it stands in the present day. Political theatre must strive to convince us that present society, replete with exploitation of various kinds, is not in an ideal state. Therefore, such a society cannot breed a hero who is perfect in all respects. A saint-like figure, alien to the common man in present society, repels the proletarian from rebellion rather than inspiring him to strive in an attempt to realize his dreams of a better future. All the major characters analysed in this chapter, in their diverse ways, bear testimony to Dutt’s commitment to the specific style of characterization suited to political theatre. Owing to the unique nature of theatre as an art form, powerful characterizations must be adroitly combined with apt direction, stagecraft, and other elements of dramaturgy. In the following chapter, we will focus on Dutt’s plays as stage productions.

Chapter 4

On Stage: Direction, Acting, and Stagecraft in Productions

We have assessed the impact of Dutt’s politics on his art as well as his style of characterization. As an artist for the masses, Dutt made it his primary objective to reach out to the exploited sections of society. He intended his plays to be successful performances on stage and not merely literary texts which would be appreciated by a handful of intellectuals. His search for a larger audience led him to design productions that would engage the common man’s attention. In this chapter, we shall study the various theatrical aspects of his productions. At the height of his creative powers, Dutt was able to unite the best practices of Indian theatre forms, like the Jatra, with the traditions of European proscenium theatre. The rich legacy of Bengali theatre before Dutt is marked with names of great directors and actors, whose individual brilliance mesmerized the audience. Dutt’s methods as the director were different in that he consciously attempted to achieve excellence in a collective enterprise. While many of his predecessors included scenes in plays merely to allow the primary actor of the troupe (the ‘star’ of the show) to exhibit his skills, his production style was such that the individual actor could have showcased his talents only as part of an ensemble cast. In addition, Dutt was aware that a stage production must involve adept backstage hands along with actors of quality.1 His work allowed for creative experiments with stage design, striking a balance among the various aspects of dramaturgy. As we have discussed earlier, Dutt saw theatre as a weapon for social change rather than a mirror image of society. He directed his creative energy towards understanding the position of man with respect to the transformations in society. He devoted his life to his search for suitable theatrical methods that would enable him to carry his ideological message most effectively. The defining feature of his work was its directness and simplicity. He identified the artistic preferences of his audience as a result of his comprehensive understanding of the tradition of theatre. He realized that the common theatregoer in our country is not moved by intellectual curiosity alone. Our theatrical tradition has been nurtured by the Jatra (and other forms of 1

See Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, 13.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0_5

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folk theatre) which encourages the expression of emotions on stage.2 To judge by the standards of the European proscenium, most of these prevalent customs would appear melodramatic. As we have seen in our discussion, in terms of subject matter, Dutt’s oeuvre was remarkably international. So, he had to identify a style that would be appropriate for his subject matter, yet remain identifiable for his Indian audience.3 Dutt’s outlook as director influenced his search for suitable plays. He was forced to write his own plays when he did not find plays to suit his ends. Dutt espoused a style of theatre that was ideologically inspired by his faith in the political role of theatre. He was convinced that his primary objective was to convert his audience to his political point of view. Generally, his plays were loudly delivered, hardly leaving anything to the interpretation of his audience. To achieve his target, he did not hesitate to apparently compromise on artistic considerations, as we have seen in some of his plays discussed earlier. Dutt’s clearly visible priority has fuelled the popular notion that his theatre was driven entirely by his political objective, to the exclusion of aesthetic considerations. However, as we shall see in the following pages, this was often not the case. In his attempts to grasp the audience’s attention and bring them round to his ideological position, Dutt had to overcome the disinterestedness that affected some of them. This obstacle was not unique to him, but he had his own mechanism to force the audience out of their slumber. He incorporated sensational effects to capture the audience’s attention. These effects, however, were not disconnected from the audience’s cultural consciousness. Rather, they attempted to rouse in their minds memories of the rich theatrical traditions on which they have been nurtured. Such an attempt allowed the proletariat to locate themselves in their glorious cultural heritage, from which the bourgeoisie seeks to alienate them. Dutt believed it necessary to master the craft of theatre before attempting any experiment. The origin and development of all elements of stagecraft like the painted scenes, the constructed set, stage music, lights, the cyclorama, and the curtains and trapdoors must be thoroughly studied. Acting, too, needs to be mastered through rigour and intense practice.4 Dutt had to preach the reconstitution of social order and thus find a style commensurate with the expression of loud, violent action in his plays. The typically restrained attitude familiar to us in a petty-bourgeois social order is reflected in bourgeois theatre. Dutt had no faith in such technique.5 A social revolution usually requires years, if not centuries, to succeed. A politically motivated dramatist must present the possibility of such a rebellion within the limited scope of his play. Therefore, he must not imitate life, but present its intensification in a focused form. His characters must appear magnificent, exhibiting an emotional expanse that may be difficult for 2

On this, see Utpal Dutt, “People’s Little Theatre-er Sadharan Barshik Sabhay Pathita Parichalaker Report”, Epic Theatre, November and February–May 1973. 3 Dutt was also influenced by Piscator’s ideas in this regard. See Piscator, 45. 4 To Dutt, the use of folk forms in Bengali theatre is an instance of experiment worthy of political theatre. See Dutt, What Is to be Done? 28 and 36. 5 Ibid., 32.

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the urban educated to fathom. Such plays cannot be limited to the claustrophobic realistic set which is suited to the presentation of everyday reality. In his search for an ideal style, Dutt never renounced the use of established stage equipment or technique. He modified their use to suit his purpose: Let us free the broad expanse of the stage for our heroes and villains to stride on. I am not an advocate of acting before a black curtain; I am a firm believer in the use of sets, but in a dynamic manner, not as a fixed static background to the actors, but sets that will participate in the action, sets that will not imitate reality but be defiantly non-representational.6

No assessment of an avowed Marxist dramatist like Dutt can be complete without an appreciation of the reception of his art among the masses. We have seen in the opening chapter that a desire for larger audience prompted Dutt to move over to Bengali for his LTG productions in spite of the success of some of their English plays. It also inspired his enthusiastic association with the IPTA. Dutt had a definite idea about the importance of popularity in the world of theatre, which he has recorded in several essays. His theatre gained relevance on account of its social commitment. He saw the playhouse as the modern equivalent of the pulpit where the crowds had to be drawn and educated about contemporary social reality. This was the governing principle behind most of his experiments in the theatre. As a noted scholar abreast with the latest experiments in theatre around the world, he had to balance his populist techniques with an artist’s urge for perfection in his work. He was committed to the masses, yet he was also an artist with an aesthetic sense. The apparent dichotomy in these two principles had earned Dutt the reputation of writing plays which are too naïve and simplistic. His constant awareness of the audience’s demands made him amalgamate didacticism, passion, and sentimentality in his works. The directness of his style, designed for the working-class audience, seemed overcooked to the sophisticated viewer.7 One may identify several reasons that ensured the enduring popularity of Dutt’s plays. The daily struggles of the people appeared recurrently in his theatre. His plays reflected the common man’s anger, exploitation, and urge for rebellion. In terms of technique, the audience discovered novelty and experimentation on stage. Finally, his plays did not carry complex, abstruse thoughts and ideas that could hinder effective direct communication with the rank and file. Dutt was the first dramatist to bring the working class with its characteristic class features prominently onto the stage in Bengali theatre, though it could be argued that Dinabandhu Mitra and Bijon Bhattacharya had done some of this already with respect to peasants, in Nildarpan and Navanna, respectively. Dutt pointed out that the working class is not only exploited but also fights against exploitation. He represented major contemporary historical events, be it of national importance or international relevance, on stage. Even classics like Achalayatan, Bura Saliker Ghade Ron, or Julius Caesar were appropriately contextualized. Another important reason behind the popularity of Dutt’s theatre was his ability to unite elements drawn from the indigenous Jatra tradition with 6 7

Ibid., 37. On this issue, see Kironmoy Raha, “The Essential Dutt”, Enact 68–69, n.p.

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those taken from the European proscenium stage. For instance, in Barricade, the stage manager (sutradha¯r) and the worker present the story to the audience. This is a common feature in Jatra scripts. On the other hand, the manner of introducing the primary characters once the curtain rises and the presentation of Hitler’s hysterical cries remind us of the proscenium tradition. Similarly, in Tiner Taloyar, Dutt makes use of technical innovations like the revolving stage, alongside the use of songs to clarify content (typical of the Jatra).8 Of course, we could observe that Brecht had incorporated these techniques, which he had appropriated from Asian and other traditions, and that Dutt studied Brecht’s Marxist theatre closely. Dutt’s plays achieved their popularity in spite of their politically charged content. His work challenged the popular notion that overtly political subject matter generally alienates audience members who seek aesthetics in art. He realized that the growing lack of the audience’s interest or participation in theatre is caused by the insurmountable force of Marxian alienation. The specific nature of a particular work of art does not influence their interest. In fact, the presentation of political content in an attractive style on stage is a potent force against alienation, as politics is related to our daily lives more closely than most other issues. Dutt firmly believed that all major political events of our time should find expression in theatre. Such plays, if presented attractively on stage, will eventually succeed in capturing the audience’s attention in spite of the force of alienation.9 Even apolitical theatre groups suffer because of lack of the audience’s interest in their productions. This is triggered, among other causes, by an appalling neglect of various aspects of dramaturgy. Such neglect is often not a consequence of paucity of funds, but caused by a lack of consciousness about the importance of these essential aspects of stagecraft.10 Our theatre practitioners have traditionally believed in the power of ‘stardom’ for stage success. It has been expected that a Girish Ghosh or a Sisir Bhaduri will pull crowds to the playhouse with their individual charisma. Other essential aspects of dramaturgy were hardly taken seriously, for they would be required to merely support the ‘star’ in action. Dutt was, arguably, the first dramatist-director in Bengali theatre to realize the composite nature of theatre as an art form, where good acting was as essential as adroit use of lights, sound, scenography, and various other aspects of dramaturgy. We will discuss his views on each of these elements later in this chapter. Dutt believed that political theatre could be effective in its purpose only if it entertained.11 One of the methods that he adopted to entertain was the presentation of carefully characterized villains. The audience was attracted by the presentation of their exploiters on stage. These members of the ruling class were lampooned, made into apparent jokers, and then their pride of class superiority over the proletariat was mercilessly crushed. The presence of these characters allowed the audience to 8

For a discussion on the popularity of Dutt’s plays, see Satya Bandyopadhyay, “Janaika Kata Sainiker Jabanbandi”, in Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan. 9 See Utpal Dutt, “Vidroher Katha”, Ganasakti, 8 December 1991. 10 Ibid. 11 Bharucha sheds light on Dutt’s obsessive reliance on entertainment in political theatre. See his Rehearsals of Revolution, 120 onwards.

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participate in a virtual struggle with their oppressors and ultimately triumph over them, albeit only within the four walls of the playhouse. Such overhauling of the power dynamics in society may take centuries to actually come into effect. A plot which allowed virtual revenge for the proletariat on these terms may appear an exercise in wish-fulfilment to some, but it certainly made the plays popular. The audience got involved with the events on stage on account of these negative characters, rather than trying to emulate the lifestyle of a distant, idealized hero. The audience got a chance to jeer at a common enemy. This aided Dutt’s political purpose as hatred for a common enemy serves to unite the masses effectively. Dutt also possessed the quality of adapting his work in response to the audience’s reaction to a particular character or episode. He realized that sympathizing with the suffering of the working class was not his only task. The suffering of the proletariat had to be represented in a manner that helped the audience learn how to convert their suffering into anger and make use of the anger in their struggle against the ruling class. This, too, aided the popular appeal of his work.12 Another of Dutt’s potent weapons in entertaining the audience was his inimitable use of humour. As an actor, he had an uncanny knack for comedy. Legendary stage actors known for their ability to essay comic roles with élan (like Rabi Ghosh) have acknowledged that Dutt’s sense of comic timing was exemplary.13 As director, like Brecht before him, Dutt understood that his target audience—the working class— flock to the playhouse at the end of a hard day’s labour in search of some light-hearted entertainment. Their attention must be arrested by providing them with occasions for hearty laughter; only then will they pay heed to the serious political content of the play. Comedy is even more essential as a means of entertainment in street plays, where the audience’s attention must be held above ambient distractions without the aid of the stage paraphernalia used in playhouses. Dutt mastered the use of humour to ensure the entertainment of his audience. He explored various types of humour that ranged from subtle mockery to raucous, visceral humour depending on the contexts of his plays. Even in tragic sequences, he would include apparently misfit comic events. Dutt knew that he had to hold on to the audience’s attention at any cost to ensure effective communication of his political message, and humour was his biggest weapon in this regard.14 A Marxist dramatist must commit himself to building political consciousness in his audience so that they are able to analyse various power relations in society. The ideological impact on the audience should be the most sought-after factor for an artist; the popularity of his work is comparatively less important. In spite of their popularity, many of Dutt’s plays failed in improving the political consciousness of his audience, as his urge for entertainment adversely affected his art. His penchant 12

Dutt has vividly recounted an incident where his interpretation of the protagonist in Michael Madhusudan Dutt’s Bura¯ Sa¯liker Gha¯de Ron radically altered in response to the audience’s reaction to his stage performance. See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 15. 13 See Rabi Ghosh, “Sei Sab Dingulo”. 14 On Dutt’s use of humour, see Samik Bandyopadhyay, Introduction, Rangvarta, nos. 39–41, March–May 1989 and Asit Basu, “Utpal Dutter Prayajana”, Sabda Sahitya Patrika: Utpal Dutt Visesh Sankhya, 2010.

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for the Jatra form in catering to his working-class audience, which often led him to oversimplify his plots, was not suited to sustained analysis of complex political events. The Jatra thrives on hallucinatory stage spectacles which seek to involve the audience (as well as actors) emotionally with the action on stage. The Jatra may rouse or anger the audience temporarily, but the form does not encourage dialectical thinking, which is only possible when the viewers are able to maintain a sense of objectivity and distance from the action on stage. Political theatre must aim at projecting incidents in their larger sociohistorical contexts, rather than inspiring the audience to merely choose sides in a particular incident of exploitation of the proletariat by the bourgeoisie. However, emotion predominates over objective thinking in much of Dutt’s theatre. His characters, especially his depictions of communist leaders like Stalin and Lenin (in Stalin:1934 or Leniner Dak), are glorified. Such idealization may ensure uncritical mass worship, but it hinders dialectical analysis. These plays may involve the audience emotionally, but they do not adequately tutor them about the sociopolitical context of their oppression. In this light, it is not too far-fetched to see Dutt primarily as an entertainer who was fascinated by the theatre. This brings us to the question whether didactic political theatre needs to prioritize entertainment to the extent that Dutt did. His aim was to preach revolution and reinterpret various events from a Marxist perspective. Therefore, the objective of educating the audience should not have been secondary to entertainment in his case. Revolutionary theatre needs to entertain, but only in the process of enlightening the audience about social equations of power and exploitation. It may be argued that the attention of the audience needs to be captured by entertaining them. But, the delicate balance between using elements of entertainment as a means to capture the audience’s attention, and prioritizing entertainment over political education of the audience must be maintained. Dutt’s obsessive reliance on entertainment often skewed this balance, which, in turn, adversely affected the political message of his theatre.15 In his theoretical discussions, too, Dutt emphasized the necessity to balance the urge for popularity with the responsibility to elevate the political consciousness of his audience. In “Hamlet O Janapriyata” (Hamlet and Popularity), he explains: The quality of a play is assessed every moment through the audience’s reactions. A play must entertain the audience. Thus, in case of theatre, popularity and quality are inextricably intertwined. A play must cater to certain impulses of the audience for the sake of popularity. This does not mean that a play must cater to the base instincts of an undemanding audience … To completely disregard popularity is the attitude of a snooty purist. One can never write plays merely for popularity, at the same time the box office cannot be ignored.16

Dutt’s theoretical conviction announced in the essay did not always find corroboration in his own work. As discussed earlier, he often chose popularity over enlightenment. A close analysis of some of his plays later in this chapter will reveal the extent to which he was able to conform to his own claim. Dutt’s extensive study of Brechtian theatre influenced his understanding of the political potential of drama. However, his technique was very different from Brecht’s, 15 16

On Dutt’s overdependence on entertainment, see Bharucha, Rehearsals of Revolution, 122. Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 61.

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whose style was intellectual, relying on the ability of his audience to reason, rather than their emotions. Dutt assessed Brecht’s technique as the opposite of empathy: The word “epic” entails a sense of distance … Not to identify with the hero, but to maintain distance and assess his actions. The familiar is made unfamiliar all of a sudden, because the audience no longer thinks about events that are witnessed in their daily lives. If familiar events are presented like never before on stage, the audience will analyse the events and attempt to identify the cause.17

Such a style prompts the audience to question established beliefs and customs, which otherwise tend to be accepted without scrutiny. It transports them to a heightened level of consciousness. Common events are presented in a manner that makes them unfamiliar, in order to facilitate a comprehensive understanding of the event. Such a technique represents a perfect application of the Marxian theory where “thesis” and “antithesis” come together to achieve “synthesis”. However, Dutt favoured a style that was steeped in emotion, designed to ensure the audience’s identification with the characters on stage. He believed that this was the most effective means to carry his message to the Bengali working-class audience.18 Brecht’s technique evolved out of a distinct sociocultural context, where his adoption of the Verfremdungseffekt helped him carry his politics to the German working class most effectively. Brecht saw the playhouse as a laboratory meant for scientific experiments, where the audience would be trained to closely analyse human beings and their actions. He did not attempt to present his characters as a sum of various contrary emotions and impulses. Rather, he chose to focus on a particular quality of a character in each short scene of his epic structure. Dutt’s style, heavily influenced by the Jatra, did not care for such nuances. In fact, he strongly believed that Brecht’s technique was ill-suited to the working-class audience of India, who appreciate the melodramatic Jatra and similar other forms. He was rather sceptical about adaptations of Brecht played in Calcutta. He believed that Brecht’s work could not be translated into Bengali with all his linguistic nuances intact.19 Brecht did not use ‘high German’—the language of educated Germans, but derived his language from the typical diction of the German working class. Dutt felt that the essence of Brecht’s expression cannot be translated into Bengali, though this may be disputed, for Bengali also has different registers. The Brecht plays produced in Calcutta were inept Bengali translations of English translations of Brecht’s plays. Dutt also believed that there were not enough actors in Bengali theatre with the ability to play Brechtian Epic Theatre.20 The importance of style or technique in theatre can hardly be exaggerated. Suitable techniques are born out of specific sociocultural contexts, which affect dramatists when they design plots. Dramatists generally adopt the technique engendered by evolutions in theatre and society in their cultural milieus. Performances during the 17

Ibid., 289. Ibid. 19 See Satya Bandyopadhyay, “Utpalda Mane Karten Brechter Natak Prakritapakshe Bhashantar Kara Jay Na”, interview by Arup Mukhopadhyay, Epic Theatre, June 2006, 67 onwards. 20 Ibid. 18

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Elizabethan age relied on the audience’s imagination for success. The ancient Sanskrit theatre had no provision for the indication of termination of acts or scenes. Once the stage curtain was introduced, and the book as a printed artefact, it became customary to indicate these divisions in plays. The introduction of the revolving stage led to the use of a large number of different sets and scenery in the same play. Thus, the rising importance of technique in theatre is a natural consequence of evolution in theatre. The distinguishing feature of the modern Bengali stage is the rise in prominence of the director. He is responsible for assembling various features of dramaturgy in their correct proportion to create a composite form of art. This position of the director in Bengali theatre is a graduation from that of the ‘motion-master’, who held sway up to the 1930s. The motion-master merely ensured the delivery of dialogue on cue—the other aspects of a stage performance were completely neglected. As director, Dutt advocated the experimental use of stage devices. His works— notably, Anga¯r—have often been attacked for relying too heavily on productional technique, rather than content.21 There is little merit in such arguments. Stage designs form an inextricable part of productions and, thus, should not be seen as foreign elements. One who is abreast with theatre should not judge stage techniques in isolation, so long as they do not supersede content. The famous mine pit in Anga¯r, or the war ship in Kallol, mesmerized the audience. But these additions to the stage performance did not eclipse the political message inherent in the plays. On the contrary, they were potent symbols which aided the expression of the dramatist.22 In the nascent years of Bengali theatre, décor implied the use of painted scenes. This was a practice borrowed from European theatre. Echoing Tagore’s ideas, Dutt believed that the use of painted scenes curtailed the audience’s exercise of imagination.23 Regardless of his staunch support of the audience’s exercise of imagination, Dutt practised a didactic theatre where the audience’s reaction was predecided. His allowance of imagination on the part of the audience was restricted to his disapproval of overtly realistic décor. He favoured sets which were suggestive rather than two-dimensional painted scenery. In “Drisyasajja” (Scene Décor), he explains his method of using a stage, which reveals his debt to and awareness of European modernist theatre, from Meyerhold to Brecht: If I get my own theatre, I will get rid of curtains and wings. Then I will remove all painted scenes. The floor will be filled with platforms of various shapes and sizes; I will put up stairs randomly. The actor will be forced to make use of these steps as he attempts to move. Higher platforms will facilitate the use of the intervening space between the floor and the batten light … I will suggest water through a few dancers dressed in blue. Red ribbons, like the ones used by Uday Shankar, [the legendary Indian dancer] will suggest fire. The unfurling of umbrellas on stage will suggest rain … Whatever I do, I will never embrace the childish realism of the painted scene.24

21

For details, see my discussion on Anga¯r later in this chapter. For Dutt’s discussion on elements of dramaturgy, see Gadya Sangraha, 72 onwards. 23 Ibid., 77 onwards. 24 Ibid., 78–79. Here, too, the concept of “childish realism” echoes Tagore’s phraseology in his essay “The Stage”. 22

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Dutt’s general attitude against realism was also reflected in his use of theatrical conventions. He did not attempt to represent action in terms of illusory realism. He understood that it is not possible to capture real life outside the playhouse within the short period of three hours on stage. Life is not defined by a plot; neither do we always find binaries of hero and villain in reality. Yet, a director may need to depend on these conventions to make his play effective in spite of its various limitations. Dutt’s acceptance of the inherent limitations of his art ensured that he was able to use theatrical technique optimally. The compulsion to ape life on stage never became an obstacle in his creation of characters and theatrical situations which we will never encounter in real life. He tried to enthral his audience with violent and tempestuous action, often at the expense of nuances, artistic subtlety, logic of plot, or motivation of action. The grandeur of performance lured the uncritical working-class audience into a blind acceptance of the spectacle on stage. Such a framework led him to design random structuring of action, accumulation of tense episodes, archetypal villains, and uncontrolled emotionalism. In the absence of adequate video evidence, we may attempt to understand Dutt’s expertise in scenography and his skills as director and actor to an extent through his own recollections as well as those of his close colleagues. Satya Bandyopadhyay recounts that, for performances of Achalayatan (1953), the stage was covered with a three-foot-high, semicircular platform. The actors were forced to enter the stage through doors carved into pillars scattered across the stage. The acting area was divided into three planes, where simultaneous acting lent momentum to the production. Dutt had divided the stage similarly into various planes, using staircases and platforms, during performances of Tapati (1957). We have seen earlier that Dutt preferred stage arrangements that forced the actor to remain conscious of the role that he was playing, rather than lose himself in the part. Dutt presented another of Tagore’s plays, Kaler Yatra, in contemporary light in 1955. The Prime Minister in the production wore a costume that the audience readily associated with Jawaharlal Nehru. The soldiers were dressed in military uniform, armed with modern weapons.25 As far as lighting is concerned, Dutt found Tapas Sen’s experiments ideally suited to modern theatre.26 Stage lights are not only meant to make the action visible to the audience. If lights are used intelligently, all elements on stage assume a different dimension in tune with the play. It aids the audience in composing a meaningful image on stage. He advocated the use of advanced technology in lighting that would allow the director to use lights not merely as an external ornament but an inherent part of theatre. In his discussion of music, Dutt explained that the music used must be congruent to the play. A song cannot be played as a background score independent of the theatrical moment that it represents. Dutt had no bias towards any particular type of music for his theatre.27 He had no qualms in using the type of music that was best suited to his purpose, even if it meant mixing various types of music for the sake of desired 25

See Satya Bandyopadhyay, Utpal Dutt O Tar Theatre, 104 onwards. See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 84 onwards. 27 See Prasanta Bhattacharya, “Sursandhani”, in Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, 60 onwards. 26

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effect. Prasanta Bhattacharya reminds us of Dutt’s consummate skill in using music. Owing to his profound knowledge of classical music, both Western and Indian, he had a clear idea about the kind of music that would suit a particular sequence of actions on stage.28 He favoured music that was ‘opposite’ to the situation on stage in terms of the emotion it evoked in the audience. So, in a scene where a murderer celebrates an assassination, the background score would not represent the victim’s plight (who enjoys the sympathy of the audience), but play out the jubilation of the assassin. Dutt did not limit himself to the typical conventions of any school of music. Dutt claimed that he had always tried to ensure that actors were not too influenced by the director. Every actor must be allowed to march ahead on his own path to progress. As director, he helped an actor in understanding the character he was to impersonate, with respect to his function in the play. The text was also explained with its relevant sociocultural contexts. He did not believe in programming an actor completely by tutoring each line of dialogue, intonation, and so on.29 However, this account of Dutt as director runs contrary to the recollection of one of his associates, Nimai Ghosh, who remembers that Dutt would recite each line of dialogue for his actors. Even certain stage business, like the manner of slapping, was decided by him. All roles were exactly enunciated by him.30 Dutt’s spectacular productions were often marked with scenes that involved a large number of actors present simultaneously on stage. He handled these crowd scenes with unmatched panache, ensuring perfect composition and scenography. Each of his actors would perform their designated roles simultaneously without encroaching into the space or role allocated to another actor. A crowd scene may be pulled off with elan only if cues for dialogue and action are perfected by each actor through rigorous rehearsals. Scenes at the waterfront in Kallol, those near the colliery in Anga¯r, the opening scene of Dusvapner Nagari are some of the examples that establish Dutt’s mastery of grand crowd scenes. These scenes contributed to the tempo, momentum, and spectacular effects on the audience that his productions thrived on. We have seen earlier that Dutt, as director, gave equal importance to all aspects of theatre. Acting was as important as costumes, sets, light, and sound. All these elements were rehearsed with due care. Dutt ensured that his actors could never lose themselves in their role. Various factors like the use of music, dominance of collective acting, or numerous cues which would initiate other stage business were meant to ensure that the performer was conscious of the audience and his role as an actor. The positional interplay of actors on stage would be enhanced by dividing the stage into various planes using steps and planks. The didactic tone of Dutt’s productions was distinguishable in his grandiose, ‘loud’ style, which could, at times, appear naïve or melodramatic to the sophisticated urban audience. Yet, he made a virtue of it. Dutt’s early training in Shakespearean theatre influenced his style. The 28

Ibid. See Utpal Dutt, “Je N¯ataker R¯ajniti Bhul T¯ar Sab Bhul”, interview by Surajit Ghosh. These claims were corroborated by his close aide Samir Majumdar in an interview with me, Kolkata, 8 August 2015. 30 See Nimai Ghosh, “Amader Utpalda”, Alokpat, Year 8, November 1993. 29

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Elizabethan actors, of course, had to be ‘loud’ both in their acting and delivery of dialogue. They did not enjoy the aid of modern stage paraphernalia to capture the audience’s attention over long hours of performance. Another distinguishing feature was his characteristic humour, evident in his use of irony, satire, farce, burlesque, profanity, or merely hamming it up. The intelligent (but often, inane) slapstick comedy that marked Dutt’s stage productions probably had its source in the vaudeville style popular in Europe around the 1950s. Dutt’s deep respect (and close study) of folk forms like the Jatra combined with these influences to produce a style that is perhaps impossible to categorize, but effective in attracting mass audiences.31 The greatest source of Dutt’s conviction in his style as director was his political belief. He was trained to think about the plight of the commoners in his artistic endeavours and tried to orient his style to suit his purpose. In his search for an ideal style, Dutt often turned to the presentational style used in Jatra. We have seen in the second chapter that Dutt’s stint with the IPTA taught him the importance of reaching out to a mass audience. He carefully observed standard techniques used in Jatra ever since and managed to incorporate some of these techniques in his own plays. The Jatra was normally dismissed in intellectual circles as crude entertainment meant for the uneducated working-class audience. The typically ‘loud’, ‘uncouth’ style used in Jatra does not suit the intellectual tastes of the urban bourgeoisie. Melodrama, the overuse of which in Jatra is dismissed by the urban bourgeoisie, is, however, a relative concept. If our idea of theatricality is limited to an office clerk and the typical petty problems that he suffers, the Jatra will appear too ‘loud’. We need to extend our imagination to the larger-than-life characters in our epics to realize that melodramatic representation is distinctively Indian. The presentation of such larger-than-life characters on stage challenges the bourgeois concept of man as a well-researched type. The bourgeois expects characters whose actions always appear logical and well defined. We pretend to be alienated by the loud, melodramatic presentation of magnificent characters in Jatra because we are influenced by the bourgeois notion of artistic propriety. Jatra abounds in the use of music, deriving this feature from the ancient Bengali tradition of Panchali (musical renditions, usually religious in content). In terms of acting, Jatra generally relies on a large, ensemble cast for its success, as opposed to all the focus being concentrated on one lead actor. Further, the actions of all members of the cast must be evident and apparent. There is no room for subtlety in Jatra. The urge to reach out to a huge crowd with dialogues, actions as well as songs, makes it imperative for actors to reach every corner of the acting space. The positional interplay of actors on stage is an essential element of Jatra. No actor can afford to remain static. This is a method that Dutt advocated in his proscenium theatre as well.32 We have seen earlier how he proposed to divide the proscenium stage into various planes and introduce greater mobility into the action. His interaction with Jatra also altered his way of looking at 31

For useful discussions on Dutt’s production style, see Ananda Lal, “The Man Who Dared To Be Different”, The Telegraph, 22 August 1993; and Asit Basu, “Utpal Dutter Prayajana. 32 Dutt discussed the technical features of a Jatra production that influenced his plays. See his “Nataker Angik Samasya”, Saradiya Madhyabitta, 1955, 103 onwards.

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the audience. Jatra allows the spectators complete freedom to do as they please during a performance. The director must strive to create a spectacle that forces members of the audience to pay attention, in spite of the ill-disciplined nature of the gathering. This realization grew into Dutt’s penchant for spectacle in proscenium theatre. In his adoption of a folk form like the Jatra, a political dramatist must assess the progressive nature of his source. He must be aware of the revolutionary potential of the form. The Jatra is not only meant to present mythological tales before simpletons. Over centuries, it has been nurtured mainly by workers and peasants, in rural or semiurban locations. So, it may be adapted to effectively present revolutionary theatre to the masses. The primary lesson that the Jatra teaches a Marxist dramatist is the manner in which progressive ideas may be disseminated in the garb of universally understood stories narrated in a manner that is intelligible to all. Style, after all, is only a mechanism meant to facilitate the narration of revolutionary content. Thus, essential elements of the folk form must be introduced into revolutionary theatre along with those of contemporary world theatre.33 The rehearsal sessions directed by Dutt were subjects of intense speculation for theatre enthusiasts. We may form some idea about his productions from the recollections of rehearsals by his contemporaries. Dutt’s sense of punctuality was legendary. He did not allow even a minute’s delay in the commencement of scheduled rehearsal sessions. Rehearsals always began with the director’s class where he analysed the play, described its historical context, and studied each character in detail. Each actor would attend these sessions with a copy of the manuscript, where he would note down relevant sections from the director’s lecture. Prompters were not present even in rehearsals. Dutt never allowed frivolous actions to interfere with the concentration of his actors even during rehearsals. They were not to smoke or consume any kind of intoxicant, eat, yawn, talk, converse in whispers or using sign language, joke, or comment on a co-actor’s performance. Anybody found flouting these rules would be turned out of the rehearsal room. Some of these restrictions help us gauge the degree of seriousness that Dutt imposed during rehearsals. The playhouse, and even the rehearsal room, was akin to a place of worship for him, and he demanded a degree of commitment in his group members not unlike that seen in a devotee towards God. Dutt would always arrive at least half an hour ahead of schedule for rehearsals or classes. His example inspired all other members, and strict discipline became part of the group’s legacy. Dutt would initially rehearse with his actors by moving chess pieces (representing various characters) on a model set kept on a table. The director would explain movement on stage and stage businesses with these chess pieces, which the actors were expected to incorporate into their copies of the manuscript. Thus, once the group started stage rehearsals, no time was wasted deciding appropriate businesses or movement. As the director, Dutt paid attention to minute details in order to ensure accuracy, especially in his historical works. The costumes and sets that he used would ably replicate the historical period in which his play was set. That such costumes and sets might be difficult to procure, and would pose stiff financial challenges to a theatre group, did not deter him. The rehearsals could stretch between 33

Ibid.

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12 and 14 hours daily. Though the rehearsals were comprehensive preparation for the group, Dutt never demanded the complete creation of a character during them. A character would only assume final shape once an actor faced the audience. The audience’s reaction would guide him in this process of creative engagement.34 Dutt’s involvement in direction was not able to eclipse the remarkable qualities that he possessed as an actor. His scientific training with Geoffrey Kendal early in his career helped him master the skills of acting, especially articulation and voice modulation techniques. He had a keen insight into his audience’s mind which enhanced his popularity. He could handle speech with remarkable virtuosity; varying tempo, speed, sonority, pitch, and scale of his voice so as to capture the audience’s attention with ease. Dutt preferred a style of delivering dialogue where words were spoken without tune. The actors were coached to vary tempo to ensure monotony did not creep into their dialogue. Their breathing patterns—how much to speak in one breath and when to breathe—were decided during rehearsals.35 Dutt had an unmatched sense of comic timing and a natural flair for witty farce, which he used adroitly to surprise his audience even with predictable stage businesses. Nikolay Okhlopkov was his inspiration as an actor. In contemporary Bengali theatre, Dutt felt inspired by Sombhu Mitra as a great exponent of stage acting, especially in terms of the use of his voice. He also found Sova Sen to possess remarkable qualities as a stage actor. Actors of the previous generation like Naresh Mitra and Prabha Devi influenced his craft. Internationally, Felicity Kendal and Ekkehard Schall were his favourite actors.36 He was able to analyse the character he was impersonating and aptly represent it on stage. He encouraged his actors to approach their roles dialectically. In addition to rehearsed voice and body movements, an actor must master the Marxian concept of dialectics in order to reach the pinnacle of his potential. Dutt believed that all great actors apply the idea of dialectics in their work, either knowingly or unknowingly.37 Formulaic onedimensional acting is mechanical and unconvincing. He wanted his actors to observe the world around them in terms of conflict between binaries. Theatre is built around the idea of conflict between opposing forces. As discussed in the previous chapter, Dutt, as a dramatist, designed his characters to suit such dialectical presentation. To conclude this section, Dutt believed that political theatre does not allow rigidity of style or form on the part of the director, who must employ the style that he believes is best suited to carry his message to the audience.38 Dutt tried to assimilate art forms like music, dance, literature, and acting in most of his productions. He followed no preset style, but the outcome enthralled the audience. As a modern dramatist, he followed the tradition of political theatre as much as he changed certain customs in Bengali theatre with his dramaturgy. On the one hand, he adopted established tradition and assessed the validity of these customs in terms of his idea of theatre. 34

See Samar Nag, “Bhebechhilam Ang Makhbo, Sundar Ektu Sajbo”, Epic Theatre, March–April 1979; and Sakti Biswas, “Darsaker Bhumikay”, Epic Theatre, February 1978. 35 See Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 38. 36 See Prasanta Dan, “Utpal Dutt Ubacha”, 13. 37 See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 209 onwards. 38 See Dutt, What Is To Be Done?, 26 onwards.

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On the other hand, he broke away from established bourgeois stage customs. We will now look at some of Dutt’s productions in greater detail in order to illustrate his dramaturgical and theatrical technique. Angar (1959) dramatizes coal mine disasters which were frequent around the Asansol region in West Bengal. In spite of the unprecedented success of the production (it ran for more than 1100 performances), there was an uproar surrounding it. It was alleged that too much emphasis on style and technique adversely affected the play’s content.39 While it cannot be denied that Dutt made use of all possible theatrical devices to ensure the popularity of the play, the revolutionary subject matter did not elude the audience. We have seen in the opening chapter that the LTG struggled with its early productions at Minerva Theatre. The financial solvency of the group depended upon the success of Angar. It had to be a ‘box office hit’. The set, lights, and music were designed to attract people to the playhouse. Yet, acting was never relegated to a secondary position. The allegations of the subject matter being drowned in the grandeur of the production were a result of lack of knowledge of the composite nature of theatre as an art form where music, lights, and décor add to the impact created by the actors. Dutt, too, conceded that Angar was written with an eye fixed on commercial viability.40 He had realized that theatre had to be a spectacle; and the elements of surprise or shock engineered into performances of the play were carefully planned. Besides designing the visual spectacle to enthral the audience, Dutt ensured that other elements of performance were equally alluring. Ravi Shankar was entrusted with the responsibility of background music for Angar. Dutt left no stone unturned to facilitate the work of Ravi Shankar, who used 44 artists for recording the music. All loudspeakers in Minerva Theatre were removed and replaced according to Ravi Shankar’s needs. These alterations were supervised by the famous musician himself.41 It is not difficult to deduce that such elaborate arrangements would have strained LTG, which was struggling for commercial viability at the time. But Angar proved to be a grand success. The audience was captivated by the novel stage arrangements as much as they were moved by the subject matter (Image 4.1). Since I have not discussed the plot previously, I should do that here. Dutt presents the plight of a group of coalminers who drown helplessly inside a mine when the owners decide to flood the mine in order to safeguard it. The management of Sheldon Colliery refuses to enforce minimal safety measures essential to the security of the miners who endanger their lives in order to ensure the company’s profit. When the experienced shot-firers claim that the level of fatal methane gas inside the mine is far higher than permissible limits, the authorities refuse to concede that the fans meant to air the pit need to be repaired. They are not ready to part with even a fraction of their profit for the safety of those who facilitate their business. The jeopardized workers are forced into a strike to halt the hazardous mining activity. However, the authorities plan to make use of the monetary compulsions of the poor workers. They announce a handsome amount of cash to be handed away as bonus to those who 39

See Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 383 onwards. See Dutt, “Je Nataker Rajniti Bhul Tar Sab Bhul”, 222 onwards. 41 See Utpal Dutt, “Amar Natake Sangit”, Yugantar, 27 March 1994. 40

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Image 4.1 LTG’s Angar (1959). Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

walk into the pit in spite of the potential threat to their lives. Some of the helpless miners, weighed down by family responsibilities, accept the deal. In the final scene, the miners are drowned as the pit is sealed and flooded to prevent fire from spreading in the mine. The final scene of Anga¯r defies logic. We find the trapped miners taking turns to write letters addressed to their family members, complete with standardized expressions of respect for the elderly and love for the young, even as they feel the rising water levels. It does not seem believable that miners who anticipate death by drowning and asphyxiation could have the necessary mental poise to express themselves with eloquence. Sanatan’s final speech, charged with emotion, reminds the audience that their death should serve as a stern reminder of the devalued state of man in capitalist society. Oddly, the miners seem more preoccupied with emotionally charged addresses for the audience, rather than desperately searching for ways to save themselves. We feel that the dramatist has consciously elongated the final scene to enhance the impact of the performance upon the audience. Tapas Sen’s lighting and Ravi Shankar’s background score added to the mesmerizing atmosphere created on stage. The diabolical calamity faced by the drowning workers, thus, becomes a spectacle. The audience would perhaps applaud such a sequence, rather than analyse the sociopolitical context that drives the miners to their doom.42 Dutt was a pioneer in terms of technological development in contemporary Bengali theatre and left no stone unturned to enhance audio-visual properties of his theatre so that plays could be performed before thousands of workers with success. The ending of Anga¯r bears 42

See Bharucha’s analysis of the ending of Anga¯r in Rehearsals of Revolution, 68.

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testimony to his acute sense of spectacle in theatre. But, it does little to enhance the political consciousness of his audience. Dutt’s theatre provides us with some memorable courtroom scenes. They may be seen as instances of staged dialectics, where arguments are assessed in the light of counter-arguments to judge their merit. Such a structure may lose some of its dramatic effect as written text, where the playwright, apparently, speaks for both sides. On stage, the drama of the courtroom hits the audience harder. The second scene in Angar portrays a court trial of the manager and owner of Sheldon Colliery. They are accused by the workers’ union of causing the death of shot-firer Dinanath by their negligence. The colliery authorities not only shirked responsibility towards their employee, but also transported the corpse to Niyamatpur, located 25 miles away, in the dead of night to wash their hands of the affair. Dutt presents the case as a lop-sided affair where Advocate Saha, arguing for the union members, proves the guilt of the colliery authorities convincingly. The prejudiced judge sides with the authorities to deliver a shameful judgement in contravention of the principles of jurisprudence. The detailed dramatization of Saha’s argument, placed against the illogical and ridiculous counter-argument of his adversary, effectively shapes the audience’s opinion against the colliery authorities. The judge openly expresses his partisan attitude in favour of the wealthy owners. It is not difficult for the audience to guess the outcome of the case, handled by a prejudiced judge. Dramatic courtroom scenes helped Dutt direct the audience’s sympathy as he pleased. Simultaneously, he portrayed the bourgeois class enemies in contemptuous light in these trial scenes. We encounter another notable courtroom scene in Manusher Adhikare, to be discussed later. The paucity of funds and equipment posed a stern challenge before the group, especially in the final scene of Anga¯r. As a result, Tapas Sen—the legendary stagelighting artist—introduced several innovations to overcome the obstacles. The water gushing into the pit would have been portrayed with the aid of costly stage-craft abroad, but the LTG was able to represent the scene on stage using discarded biscuit tins worth Rs. 36 and a few 100-watt bulbs. Sen darkened the stage in the rescue operation scene so that the colliery authorities with their cranes, excavators, and searchlights appear frightening before the audience.43 Thus, the message of the dramatist was clarified. Some electric bulbs, set randomly under the pithead, were left to blink throughout the scene to add to the effect. The discontent surrounding the supposed dominance of theatrical technique over content in Angar forced Dutt to write a defence of his play. In the article “Angare Angik” (The Use of Style in Angar), he attempted to explain that the controversy was caused by a lack of understanding of the function of technique in theatre. It is perhaps harsh to fix our attention on the final scene alone in our assessment of the production. Tapas Sen’s work in the preceding scene, too, (where the feigned rescue operation is dramatized) deserved accolades. However, the unnaturally extended final scene was certainly written to enthral and mesmerize the audience, rather than encourage

43

See Tapas Sen, “Chayer Dhoyar Alo”, in Gadya Sangraha, 400 onwards.

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objective reflection upon the sociopolitical context of the tragedy that the miners suffer. Dutt defends his final scene: Did the use of theatrical technique in the final scene adversely affect the plot or characters? In our opinion, it did not. We made use of water because the plot demanded its use. Indications of inevitable deaths mark the play… The death scene is at once climax, solution and outcome. It completes the message in the play. The death is borne by the flooding scene. Thus, the flooding finds a place in the play based on its need … At times, sets or lights need to be used more prominently for the sake of the play. Otherwise, the climactic scene loses its potency.44

We concede that the death of the miners might be the inevitable conclusion that the plot builds up to. But there is little justification for making a spectacle out of suffering. As a political dramatist, Dutt’s objective should have been to trigger intellectual assessment of his audience with regard to the conditions that lead to the appalling death of the miners. Instead, the final scene attempts to mesmerize the audience with its conscious spectacle. The commercial success of Kallol (1965) was definitely buoyed by the unforgettable characters discussed in the previous chapter. In addition, the set, designed by Suresh Datta, etched a permanent mark on the minds of theatre lovers. In recalling the design of the stage, Datta revealed that it was a life-changing experience for him as an artist. He first saw an actual warship before embarking upon the project of designing the entire stage as one. This was followed by sketching a two-dimensional model. Following the director’s approval of the model, he began the actual work. Datta was aided by 20–25 carpenters and shifters continually for about twenty days to prepare the set. The project cost close to Rs. 15,000 in those days.45 The designer himself did not quite know how the stage would finally shape, as he had made various parts of the ship separately, to be assembled before the first performance. Kallol was a grand experiment in terms of production technique. Dutt’s sense of stagecraft made it possible for him to maximize the visual potential of theatre in accordance with content so that the audience was enriched as well as entertained. The stage was not big enough to accommodate an entire warship. So, Dutt introduced an innovation to ensure that the presentation appeared convincing. A section of the ship’s deck was shown on stage, in accordance with the original height of a ship deck. The rear of the ship appeared to vanish into darkness through a clever interplay of light and shadow engineered by Tapas Sen. So, the audience felt that only a section of an actual war ship was visible to them on stage. The ship was made to move forward and even turn in various directions for it to appear realistic. Besides the presentation of the ship, the opening scene, set in the boiler room, required innovation in the use of lights. A few chains were hung, the shadows of which would flicker on the boiler to indicate the motion of the ship. In this manner, the vibrations of the moving ship were convincingly presented to the audience.46 44

Dutt, Gadya Sangraha, 386–387. See Suresh Datta, “Kalloler Mancha”, Epic Theatre, nos. 1–5, 1986, 12 onwards. 46 See Tapas Sen, “Abhijnatar Aloy Evam Jahajer Opar Ekti Kal”, in Sabda Sahitya Patrika: Utpal Dutt Visesh Sankhya. 45

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The audience’s attention would be captured by the massive warship occupying almost the entire stage. But the director ensured that the remaining space on stage was used effectively. In front of the ship, right before the audience, Maganlal (the Congress leader, who is shown to betray the rebellion) would deliver his speeches. The actor playing Maganlal would have a bulb focusing on him, which he would switch on immediately before the speech. He would turn the bulb off once the speech was over. Rattrey’s office was set up at the rear of the stage. The waterfront village, where the dissenting ratings lived, was represented on a four-foot-high platform constructed in front of the ship. This platform would double up as the prison where the final scene is set. The novel set and content of Kallol combined to ensure its unprecedented popularity. Even bus conductors would refer to the bus stop for Minerva Theatre as “Kallol stoppage”, owing to the popularity of the play! The legacy of Kallol continued to influence Bengali theatre years after the LTG performed it. An ambitious project of reviving the play on the river Hugli was planned as part of the Utpal Dutt theatre festival in 2005. Samir Majumdar, Dutt’s longtime associate, was to direct the performance, while Malay Biswas was chosen as assistant director. The Millenium Park Jetty in Kolkata was taken as the central point of the floating set. At a distance of about a hundred feet into the river, opposite the jetty, two pontoons were kept attached to each other to represent the Khyber. The waterfront and Rattrey’s bungalow were created with similar pontoons; respectively, to the right and left of the Khyber. Each of these pontoons was massive in size, measuring approximately 100 × 60 feet.47 A model for this grand set was recreated at Yuvabharati Krirangan, Salt Lake, Kolkata. A mere description of the set is enough for us to gauge the grandeur that the set for Kallol demanded, even in open-air recreations. Sadly, theatre enthusiasts were deprived of witnessing the play on such a set as the police declined permission to stage it on the river a day before the scheduled opening performance for security reasons.48 The play was put up on 14 and 15 November (a week after the scheduled performances on the river) at Yuvabharati Krirangan, where the set had to be recreated. Dutt evidently tried his best to mesmerize his audience with grand spectacle in Kallol. However, the grandeur of the production does not interfere with the effectiveness of its political message. We have seen in the previous chapter that Dutt presents his protagonist Sardul Singh leading the villagers to mutiny. Besides Sardul, the role of the other villagers in organizing the rebellion is also highlighted. The set may have served to initially attract the audience, but their attention would duly shift to the uncompromising, heroic struggle of the mutineers as the central focus of the play. The glitz and razzmatazz of scenography did not eclipse Dutt’s clarion call for an armed uprising against the British imperialists and their Indian aides. Manusher Adhikare opened at Minerva Theatre on 14 July 1968. This event was significant for Dutt as he was in desperate need of a play which would help him return to the mainstream of political theatre after the isolation that he suffered following 47

See Samir Majumdar, “Gangabakshe Kallol – Ek Abisvasya Natyasvapner Nirman”, Epic Theatre, June 2006. 48 Ibid.

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the production of Tir. The play was based on the historic Scottsboro trial where nine African-American teenagers were falsely accused of raping two white American women onboard a train near Scottsboro, Alabama, on 25 March 1931. The Scottsboro Boys, as the accused teenagers came to be known, had become icons of protest against racism rooted in the American legal system, especially that of the state of Alabama. The International Labor Defense, the legal arm of the American Communist Party, stood firmly with the defendants. With the active support of organizations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and civil rights activists around the world, the case was transferred to the American Supreme Court in 1937, where the death sentence delivered by the lower court was overturned, thus saving the lives of eight (the youngest of the group, 13-year-old Leroy Wright, was sentenced to life imprisonment by the lower court) innocent African-American boys. Dutt’s major characters and events in the play are historical. However, the audience’s reaction tempered his approach to his characters. On a particular occasion, while playing Leibowitz, he had to completely alter his approach to the character in response to the audience’s reaction. In rehearsals, Dutt had built up an idealistic lawyer, who would fight unrelentingly for his client, across barriers of class and race. But the reaction of the audience helped him realize that Leibowitz should be presented as a shrewd professional, who knew how to put his rivals in place, in spite of their dirty professional tricks. Leibowitz was not meant to be an oversimplified hero. He could actually be as devious as the prosecutor Tom Knight, whenever required. Even Dutt’s costume and gait on stage changed, commensurate with his changed interpretation of the character he played.49 A particular sequence in Manusher Adhikare illuminates Dutt’s characteristic use of humour on stage. During the closing stages of the trial, Knight, aware of his incompetence before Leibowitz, places a cap on Patterson’s head. He claims this to be clinching evidence as the cap is said to have been discovered at the site of crime. His rather hilarious expression of joy—he shouts “Correct fit! Correct fit!”— is parodied by Leibowitz, who wears the cap himself to show how perfectly it fits him as well. It is not difficult to imagine that such a sequence, when played on stage, would appear inane tomfoolery. It is incongruous with the serious atmosphere which befits a courtroom, especially one where a case as potentially far-reaching in consequence as the Scottsboro Trial, is being debated. Dutt seems too keen to entertain his audience here, disregarding the larger context of the play, which he has himself carefully built up. Manusher Adhikare presents one of the best-known instances of original courtroom drama in Bengali theatre, therefore demanding extended analysis. The play is almost devoid of external action, and our attention is fixed on the exchange of argument and counter-argument between Tom Knight, who represents the prosecution, and Samuel Leibowitz who fights for the defendant Haywood Patterson. Dutt’s courtroom scenes, even in their textual form, were conceptualized visually. The debate structure is particularly suitable for audio-visual impact upon the audience.

49

See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 16.

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Leibowitz, acknowledged as the finest criminal lawyer in America even by his opponent, conclusively proves Patterson’s innocence. Yet, the racist jury rules in favour of the prosecution. The judgement is a reflection of their racist ideology rather than an opinion based on careful consideration of available evidence. It is only within the court that the blacks may hope for some protection. Patterson may hope for conduct that becomes the interaction of civilized human beings. The crowd which gathers outside the court constantly threatens to enforce Patterson’s death sentence in case Judge Callahan does not announce a verdict to their satisfaction. A stone hurled inside the courtroom by a member of the crowd gathered outside, which hits Leibowitz’s wife, seems to signal the intrusion of the outside world into the apparently insulated space of the court. The visual impact of this scene may easily be imagined. As we see the innocent old lady on stage, gashed by the stone, aided by nobody except her husband, our feelings are hardened further against the racist whites. Patterson is robbed of his last hope—the sense of equality of the famed American legal system— and sentenced to execution. During his interrogation by Knight, he is forlorn in the witness box. He is unlawfully defeated, but certainly not humiliated. Knight takes recourse to inappropriate verbal abuse, threats, and other manipulations of law to break his heroic resistance. The famous lawyer fails in his attempts, and Patterson wins our sympathy as he walks to face his execution with his head held high. The witness box may be seen as an independent, exclusive space within the court. Here, the accused must stand his ground alone, without the aid of his lawyer or any other witness. Dutt attracts our attention to the physical contraction of space where the blacks were allowed to exist on equal terms with their white compatriots: the society represents a larger locale than the court, which, in turn, is larger than the witness box. This is an external manifestation of the exploitation of the blacks in American society. Thus, Dutt makes intelligent use of his setting. Thikana (Address), written with the backdrop of the Bangladesh War of Independence, 1971, premiered at the Academy of Fine Arts, Calcutta, on 2 August 1971. In the opening scene, we find Makbul, a peasant, listening to an announcement made on behalf of the military government of East Pakistan. The announcer claims that the Bengali rebels (“muktiyoddha¯s”) have been ruthlessly crushed. There is no further possibility of political disturbances in the area. The language of the announcer appears striking to us. In Dutt’s theatre, we find various characters, especially British army officers, whose mother tongue is not Bengali. Yet, they speak the local language with ease. Dutt does not make them speak a ridiculous brand of anglicized Bengali, where the strange pronunciations make it difficult for the audience to identify words spoken in their mother tongue. Dutt was against the practice of branding characters in terms of their use of language. Characters like Captain Renel in Sanyasir Tarabari (discussed in the previous chapter) seem eloquent in their use of Bengali as a medium of expression. In Tiner Taloyar, Benimadhab ridicules the practice of distorting Bengali in lines of dialogue spoken by foreigners. Dutt makes an exception in Thikana. The announcer in the opening scene and other Pakistani army officers in the play speak a strange brand of Bengali. Dutt writes a specific stage direction to ensure that the actor playing the announcer deliberately mispronounces words

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and misuses the language.50 The farcical impact of these lines in the playhouse is not difficult to imagine. Dutt also manages to alienate the audience’s sympathy for certain characters at the outset by using this technique. The perversion of language distances the Pakistani officers from the audience. In contrast, characters like Renel are meant to elicit a complex, multidimensional reaction from the audience. They are given certain good qualities, and there is no attempt to alienate them from the audience in their dialogue. But Dutt encourages the audience to dislike the army officers throughout Thikana. Afzal Bokhari, one of the officers, is the only exception to this practice. He appears for a very short time before the audience, as he commits suicide in the opening scene. The few lines of dialogue given to him are all spoken in English, which are translated into imperfect Bengali by other officers. The concocted tale of Bokhari’s murder provides the army officers with a justification for executing six innocent people. Bokhari is not evil personified like his compatriots. He seems to possess certain humanitarian impulses. He feels that his countrymen will not escape divine punishment for their gross ill-treatment of the people of East Pakistan. He falls in love with a local Bengali woman and is driven to suicide when he can no longer play the role of the invincible, courageous army officer. His actions are anomalous to the notion of the perfect hero that the other officers seek to popularize. The difference between Bokhari and the other officers, especially his tragic death, ensures that the audience likes him more. Dutt’s intention is further clarified when we find that Bokhari’s suicide letter, addressed to his beloved, is written in flawless Bengali. The letter is read out to the audience in Bokhari’s voice to enhance the different impact that language makes in this episode. Thikana focuses on the fear psychosis that drives the innocent people arrested in connection with Bokhari’s ‘murder’. The second scene introduces us to the six suspects in turn. Dutt presents each character in front of a large projection screen. Their photographs are captured from different angles and projected on the screen, as in Brechtian practice. The photographs represent various profiles of the face, rather than the complete figure. Thus, as these are projected in quick succession, the accused appear before us in strange, dismembered forms. The introduction of the suspects in front of the projection screen allows Dutt to present the characters on equal terms. The same questions are asked to each suspect, and their manner of answering suggests similar helplessness in each case. The suspects include a jutemill owner, a psychiatrist, a Jatra actor, and a poor tea shop owner. The similarity of their fate suggests that the colonizing power does not differentiate in its torture. Thus, all sections of the subjugated people must join the struggle with equal enthusiasm to overthrow their exploiters. One of the major difficulties that we face in trying to assess Dutt’s theatre is the lack of video evidence. The preservation of cultural or artistic heritage has hardly been a priority in India. The apathy of governmental institutions adds to the damage caused by our own lack of consciousness in this regard. Dutt himself was not particularly keen on having his plays recorded. He was aware of the ephemeral nature of his productions. Almost all his plays were born out of specific sociopolitical contexts, 50

See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 603 onwards.

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which would lose their significance if foisted upon another moment in history. As a Marxist, he believed in the dynamic nature of society. In his opinion, the plays may not have the desired impact unless performed in their specific historical contexts. This led to his lack of interest in recording plays for posterity.51 We must, therefore, rely on the meagre documentation that is available. It is difficult to form opinions on a director’s style based on such limited resources.52 Gautam Ghosh’s documentary film on Dutt, Theatre-er Sandhane (In Search of Theatre, 1989), contains snatches taken from some of his productions. Unfortunately, the documentary does not live up to the standards set by the film director in his other works. It is a slapdash arrangement of random shots connected with Dutt and is of little help in introducing the nature of Dutt’s theatre. However, I have been able to access a performance of Barricade recorded on video.53 One may reconstruct some of Dutt’s style from this rare recording. Samir Majumdar played the Nazi leader Lippert in this production. He enhances the evil nature of the character suggested in the printed text with his actions. The director introduces an extended mime sequence early in the production to convince the audience of Lippert’s heinous nature. It is a crucial theatrical interpolation, not present in the printed text. Lippert, in the company of Nazi Stormtroopers, corners an unarmed, helpless woman. They manhandle her, and Lippert slaps her across the face without any provocation. Some Communist Party workers enter the scene and resist the Nazis. Shots are fired by both sides, while the woman is able to escape. Such an episode serves to magnify the evil nature of the Nazis. In the text, the dramatist merely indicates explosions on the streets in a stage direction punctuating Otto’s speech.54 Other mime sequences are introduced by the director towards the end. The printed text carries a stage direction where it is mentioned that the Stormtroopers run amok on the streets of Berlin during the election. On stage, we are shown Paul Schall in a mime sequence, who is cornered and beaten up by the Stormtroopers. He is then taken into their custody. The Nazis know well that Ingeborg Zauritz loves Paul and has no one else to call her own since the brutal murder of her husband. Yet, the Stormtroopers do not hesitate to torture Paul, and later, murder him in cold blood. The corresponding portion in the text does not refer specifically to Paul as a victim of Nazi hooliganism. As in case of the earlier mime, the devilish nature of the Nazis is emphasized by the director. Soon after this episode, the Communist Party workers gather and a comrade of theirs distributes guns. They brandish their weapons at the audience and fire shots skywards, apparently challenging the Nazis. The director suggests that they are in no mood to cower in fear. One of them waves a large 51

Refer Bishnupriya Dutt, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta, on 18 September 2016. A recorded performance of PLT’s Bura Saliker Ghade Ron (1988), featuring Dutt as Bhaktaprasad, is available at the Natya Shodh Sansthan archives. His adroit use of facial expressions (especially with his eyes), tonal variations, and his impeccable sense of comedy make Michael Madhusudan Dutt’s satire come alive. However, I have limited my analysis in this book to Dutt’s original plays. 53 Telecast by Doordarshan in its National Programme in 1995. Shot by Abhijit Dasgupta with permission from the Utpal Dutt Foundation. VHS videotape in the collection of Ananda Lal. 54 For references to the printed text in this section of my analysis, see Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 5, 223 onwards. 52

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Communist Party flag which, visually, seems to enshroud them. Their commitment to the cause represented by the Red Flag is their chief source of strength. This episode does not appear in the published text. Lippert’s sickness of mind is reflected in his physical ailment. It is suggested in the text that his facial muscles contort often, and he can do nothing to help himself. On stage, Majumdar makes it seem like an epileptic attack over which he has no control. His desperate attempts to appear normal are mocked by his own body. We have discussed in the second chapter that Dutt presented his villains on stage in a manner that made them appear laughable. Lippert’s inadequacy denies him the air of invincibility that he seeks. His authoritarian position might allow him to get the better of the communists temporarily, but his ultimate defeat seems inevitable. On being asked by Otto (who reports on the Zauritz murder case) whether the Communist Party would be banned, Lippert’s facial tissues contort, and he shouts unnecessarily while answering the question. The impact of his unprovoked shriek causes Otto to fling his diary into the air. Lippert, of course, shouts in spite of himself as he is afraid of being found out. Otto has unknowingly revealed the real intention of the Nazis. In the text, Lippert denies Otto’s conjecture with apparent calmness and composure. His epileptic attack resurfaces later. As for Hitler himself, his hysterical flailing of arms as he delivers his speech addressed to the nation reduces him to a clownish figure fit to be laughed at. The director uses chiaroscuro to present a disproportionately large shadow of the Führer before the audience. This intensifies the grotesque impact. Dutt’s characteristic use of humour is evident in this video. The words, expressions, and actions of Otto, played by Satya Bandyopadhyay, deserve special attention in this light. As Otto enters the stage in the opening scene, he walks with a mischievous shuffle, waves at the audience, and places a bottle of wine on the table before beginning to speak. He wears a comic expression throughout, in stark contrast to the content of his speech which describes the throttling of democracy in Germany. The comic incongruence between his matter-of-fact, journalistic tone, and the gravity of content strengthens the impact on the audience. In the printed text, the dramatist suggests that Otto is to begin his speech as soon as he enters the stage. Landt directs Otto to report the Zauritz murder case in a partisan fashion, framing the communists even before the trial begins. He manufactures a headline for Otto’s report, where he decides that the communists danced on the street after murdering Zauritz. According to Landt, such grotesque representations of the communists would effectively form public opinion in favour of the Nazis. In the text, Otto questions Landt whether he was present at the site of crime to have witnessed the dance. But on stage, he mimics the supposed dance, waving an imaginary Red Flag above his head. Landt wants Otto to report that the communists sprayed Ingeborg with her husband’s blood after the murder. Otto again introduces a note of frivolity by mimicking a murderer spraying blood at Ingeborg with a pump. These actions are not suggested in the text. As he is interviewing Lippert, Otto cracks a joke. He breaks into laughter, and Lippert joins him a moment later. They laugh in tandem, matching each other’s pattern in a way that magnifies the comic impact of the episode. Otto then interviews Ingeborg for his report. On being asked about her location during the crime, she claims that she was standing at the door of her house while her husband was being stabbed on the

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road. In the video, Otto, almost in spite of himself, breathes a sigh of relief and says that he may now believably paint her in blood and, thus, honour Landt’s ridiculous headline. In the text, Ingeborg answers Otto without such comic interjections. Landt’s partisan nature is evident even during the trial in court. Lippert delivers an emotionally charged speech (which is no more than eyewash) in favour of equal democratic rights for all political parties, including the Communist Party. In the text, Landt whispers his praise for Lippert in Otto’s ears. On stage, he speaks out aloud, unequivocally praising Lippert and denouncing those who call the Nazi Party autocratic. Later, as Otto is being reprimanded by Landt, his repartees and expressions are in stark contrast with the gravity in Landt’s voice. His attire (he wears a pink hat with his formal coat) adds to his general deportment that suggests frivolity. In the text, Landt reprimands a reporter over telephone for writing an honest report. Otto, who is also present on stage, does not play a significant role during this conversation. In the video, however, he silently intercedes. He wears a bemused look and a wry smile, contorts his face at appropriate places, and keeps gulping down wine to suggest his nervousness. The audience’s attention is fixed on him though he is silent. Landt attempts to convince him to conclusively indict Huettig for Zauritz’s murder in his reports. In the text, Landt supports his theory with references to the evidence presented by the police officer Hess before the court. He claims that Hess has measured Huettig to prove that his body dimensions match those of the bloodmarked coat discovered at the site of murder. In the video, Landt touches Otto to demonstrate Hess measuring Huettig. Otto laughs out aloud claiming that he feels tickled by Landt’s touch. The humour, obviously, contrasts with the seriousness of Landt’s purpose and neutralizes the force of his arguments in favour of the Nazis. Otto even walks with a funny skip in his steps. Smart improvisations on stage mark the production. In the opening scene, Landt attempts to convince Otto of the general criminal nature of the communists. Otto is hardly convinced but must show his assent to the editor. He stammers on the word “abasya” (certainly) to reveal his state of mind. Similarly, he stammers on the word “dekhun” (see). The printed text does not contain stage directions to suggest such a style of delivering dialogue. When Otto is about to quiz Doctor Strubbel—an eyewitness—about the crime, he requests for a photograph with him before proceeding with the questions. The gravity of the situation seems to be lost on the two as they spend a while deciding Strubbel’s best pose for a photograph. In this typical example of the effects made possible by what theatre artists call stage business, the actors consciously introduce frivolity into their words and actions even as the situation demands gravity of demeanour. Otto then asks Strubbel to express his opinion about Lippert. In the text, we find the doctor simply denying any opinion whatsoever. On stage, he begins to express a negative opinion, but realizes in the middle of his sentence that Lippert is looking straight at him. Fear overcomes the doctor, and he retracts his sentence to say that he has no opinion. This improvisation helps the audience identify the strain of fear that marked the German intelligentsia represented by Strubbel. Later, Otto gulps down wine to show his nervousness, as he is being instructed by the editor to manufacture evidence against the communists. Heinz, a Communist Party worker, describes the torture inflicted upon him by police officers and Nazis in graphic detail to Otto. In

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the text, he concludes his speech by saying that he was tortured continuously for three days and nights. On stage, Heinz repeats the phrase “tin din tin ratri” (three days and three nights) thrice, escalating his tone with each repetition. Through his voice reverberating in the auditorium, the director emphasizes the brutality of the Nazis. When Strubbel is beaten up by the Stormtroopers, Kurt, one of the Stormtroopers, hauls him by his collar and threatens to teach him a lesson. On stage, Kurt throws away a copy of the Holy Bible (which Strubbel had handed him moments earlier) and then begins to manhandle him. This improvisation on stage, which is not suggested in the text, secures an opposite impact to the one involving Strubbel’s photograph: the evil nature of the Nazis is magnified as they do not care even for the Book of their God. In the final scene, Lippert intimidates prospective witnesses Otto and Strubbel not to change their earlier statements before the court. He is aware that both witnesses have come to know of the truth that Huettig had been framed in a false case. In the text, Strubbel gives in without Lippert having to do much in order to intimidate him. On stage, Lippert casts an intimidating look at Strubbel and gestures to him that he cannot have anything new to say before the court. Without uttering a word, Lippert is able to convey the dreadful consequences that might follow any attempt to show dissent. Stage space is used adroitly in the production. The opening of the third scene where Ingeborg imagines that she is speaking to her dead husband is enacted outside the curtain. The action is, as it were, extended into the audience to make them empathetic to the old woman’s plight. The third scene closes with Otto asking Ingeborg whether Zauritz managed to say something before he breathed his last. The fourth scene opens with the identical question, put by Hess to Strubbel in court during the trial. This scene takes place upstage, whereas the preceding scene was enacted outside the curtain. Thus, the fourth scene begins almost simultaneously as the third closes. The director’s skillful use of space magnifies the impact secured by the repetition of the question. In the trial scene, the stage is divided into various planes with wooden blocks and planks. The undertrial and the witnesses sit on a chair kept on a plank, facing the audience. Thus, whenever they answer questions, their facial expressions are clearly visible to the audience. The judge is seated behind the witness, upstage, with his chair placed on a higher platform. The others present in court—Lippert, Otto, the radio announcer, and others—sit on chairs placed on stage. The audience is able to view each actor’s movements and facial expressions distinctly in spite of a large number of people present on stage. We have discussed Dutt’s preferred style of dialogue delivery, where words were spoken without any tune. Samir Majumdar as Lippert and Satya Bandyopadhyay as Otto execute this style perfectly as captured on camera. During Huettig’s trial, Majumdar turns to the audience as he speaks to the judge. His matter-of-fact style makes his words seem like an address to the audience, taking them in confidence. Bandyopadhyay’s address to the audience at the beginning is stylistically similar. Towards the end of the performance, we find an alteration made to the printed dialogue. Strubbel is supposed to list Goethe and Schiller as probable additions to the Nazi ‘festival’ of burning books. He, however, says “Shakespeare” in place of “Schiller”. It is possible that the director introduced the change, after remembering

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that the Germans revere Shakespeare as one of their own, and also realizing that the Bard’s name would resonate much more with the audience than the relatively unknown Schiller’s. The performance of Dusvapner Nagari (premiered at Kala Mandir, Calcutta, on 16 May 1974) was one of the most controversial events in Bengali theatre. Dutt announced boldly in the title of the play that Calcutta in the 1970s had turned into a “city of nightmares”, owing to exploitation of the common man by the state machinery. The administration turned a blind eye to the misdeeds of food hoarders who created an artificial shortage of essential commodities and directed goods into the black market to be sold at exorbitant prices beyond the common man’s grasp. This capitalist class was said to sponsor the election campaigns of the ruling Congress party. In addition to the rising price of essential goods, the state administration came down heavily on all political opposition. The extremist revolutionary Naxalites had also risen to prominence during this time, adding to the political turmoil in the state. Dutt’s play dramatizes these issues in considerable detail. Obviously, the Congress government did not want the play to gain popularity. Dusvapner Nagari had to face state resistance on various occasions. The most potent of these assaults happened before a scheduled performance at Star Theatre on 26 August 1974. The group members arrived at the venue to discover a huge gathering of police personnel and Congress goons waiting for them.55 The artists were attacked. A PLT member, Sabita, was hit on the head with a stick. The actors and technicians were forced to take shelter at the nearby Rangana theatre. The performance was cancelled for the day. The play was banned by the government under section 124 (A) on charges of sedition. The government struggled to prove their claim, and realizing that evidence against the allegation was too strong, continued to delay court hearings. Unrelatedly, National Emergency was proclaimed on 26 June 1975, leading to suppression of political theatre in general. The planned attack on Dusvapner Nagari was condemned universally. Cultural icons including Mrinal Sen and Soumitra Chatterjee joined protests against such a brutal assault on the independence of theatre. The Chief Minister, Siddhartha Sankar Ray, refused to take concrete steps to ensure that the play could be staged. Though Dutt was not arrested, Dusvapner Nagari was practically banned. The government could not, however, curb clandestine performances at places like Thyagaraja Hall in south Calcutta with alternate titles like “Kolkatar Karcha”. Dutt presents Lakshman Palit, the capitalist in league with the state administration, in a unique manner. Palit speaks in verse throughout the play, often using words which are generally not part of conversational vocabulary. The apparently grand diction is in stark contrast to the content of his speeches. He inadvertently blurts out many of his misdemeanours, without any apparent hesitation reflected in his expression. The outcome is hilarious. He introduces himself in the following manner: I am Lakshman Palit, I am the protagonist of a grand affair. I am already burdened with the ownership of various agencies, 55 See Sen, Smarane Bismarane, 117. The incident was also reported with due importance in newspapers. See Natyabhinayer Biruddhe Bikshobh”, Anandabajar Patrika, 27 August 1974.

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Now, in addition, I need to take care of Kolkata. You might say I am the unofficial owner of this city… It is true that I sponsor the newspaper Bangavani, My smoking pipe is horrible to taste, But I have seen capitalists smoke pipes in films, So, I need to do the same.56

The crude verse has a unique impact on the audience and forces them to pay close attention each time Palit appears on stage. The influence that Palit has on various agencies of state administration is described in considerable detail. We find the editor of a popular newspaper, a leader of the ruling political party, and even police officers announce their subservience to Palit’s wealth. The claim that he makes of owning the city actually holds water. Thus, his threats of exploiting the local people to fill his coffers are grim reminders of the helpless condition of the residents of a city where the rule of law has completely collapsed. Dutt, however, presents these threats in a humorous manner. The audience is forced to laugh at Palit even when he announces his evil designs, on account of his typical diction and manner of expression. Palit brazenly announces his sexual misdeeds. He claims that his secretary Purnima would not have escaped his lust had she joined office when he was younger. The incongruity between his diction and the content of his speech serves to magnify the anger of the audience, and the audience is won over to Purnima’s side when she attacks her employer with her footwear in response to his rape threat. Palit reprimands the photographer of Bangavani for publishing a photograph of Indira Gandhi where she is seen sporting a moustache. In this farcical interlude, Palit and his pet goons try hard to find the leader in a dark photograph. Palit plays news on the radio where we hear the following lines: Even though the standard of living in India is the lowest in the world, we must accept that the progress of our country is commendable. It is widely known that poverty has risen steeply over the past five years, yet we must admit that the government’s poverty eradication mission has been successful. Statistics of the United Nations show that 78% of the Indian population is malnourished. However, who will contest the claim that Indians enjoy democracy and freedom of speech?57

Palit instructs the editor of Bangavani to manufacture news about the Chinese occupation of Sikkim. In a burst of enthusiasm, he also suggests a possible introduction to the concocted news report: a discussion of the geographical location, where the beauty of the seas surrounding Sikkim must be described! Palit further claims that the capital of Sikkim is Lhasa, while Ladakh is in Uzbekistan. The complete ignorance that drives the campaigns of the state is made evident by the satire injected into these words. Palit’s ludicrous incompetence cannot be shielded by his wealth or prominence in society. Dutt reduces his political adversaries to laughable characters 56

See Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 6, 80 onwards. Dutt wrote Palit’s lines in crude rhyming verse, thus magnifying the impact on the audience. I have not attempted a verse translation of the lines. 57 Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 6, 92.

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who lack basic knowledge. Their misplaced confidence, born out of the undeserved importance given to them in society, makes them even more ridiculous. However, it seems that Dutt gets somewhat carried away in portraying the class enemy as laughable. The piling up of too many instances to establish Palit’s idiocy diverts the audience’s attention away from the potential threat that he represents. Palit actually controls several arms of the administration and is potentially a great threat to the proletariat. Dutt’s penchant for entertainment leads him to miss the fine balance between portraying Palit as laughable (and, thus, not invincible in a class war) and overdoing the comedy so that the audience see him as a mere laughing stock, completely disregarding the damage that he may cause. As a practitioner of political theatre, instead of triggering visceral humour, Dutt should have prioritized warning the proletariat that there is great danger in underestimating one’s class enemy. Dusvapner Nagari, in spite of its humour, is a tragedy. Innocent people are tortured in police custody or brutally murdered on the pretext of being related to a potential political adversary. Such episodes are presented by Dutt in a manner that entertains the audience even as the brutality of the administration is unmasked. In the third scene, Dutt describes the escape of Swapan, a Communist Party worker who is loved by the local people for his helpful and friendly nature. The police join hands with the ruling party to bait him into a trap where he may be hounded and then murdered in cold blood. The audience is on the edge of their seats, as goons barge into the tea stall where Swapan is present. Swapan slips away into the kitchen adjacent to the stall and assumes the disguise of the store assistant, who has been reported absent. Dutt presents a comic sequence after this episode where the goons are tricked time and again by Swapan and the locals who aid his escape. It is not difficult to imagine the audience roar with laughter when one of the locals, trying to be a bit too careful not to reveal Swapan’s presence, ends up inadvertently naming him on multiple occasions: I had been to the market this morning. Swapan fish was being sold for seven rupees a kilo.58

He soon corrects himself with another Freudian slip: I went to the market today – they were selling puti fish for seven Swapans a kilo.59

Swapan manages to fool his pursuers for a period of time before Janak—the actual store assistant—enters the scene. Girin, the leader of the goons employed to murder Swapan, finds out that there are two people who claim to be working in the tea stall. Krishnachura manages to fool him once again by portraying Janak and the disguised Swapan as twins. As we laugh at the apparent tomfoolery, we are left to ponder over the grim possibilities of the plot. Had Krishnachura’s remarkable confidence not come to the rescue, Swapan, like countless other innocent young men, would have been ruthlessly murdered. Manibhusan’s inner turmoil is presented with the help of Devadatta, a theatrical creation, who is introduced as a spectre. Devadatta is visible only to Manibhusan and the audience. The ghost is a projection of Manibhusan’s consciousness. He has 58 59

Ibid., 135. Ibid., 136.

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been forced to join hands with the likes of Palit to hide certain mistakes that he made in his youth. He cannot escape the pangs of conscience as he sinks deeper into crime and retribution. The spectre Devadatta allows Manibhusan to speak his mind through him. Manibhusan is bound by circumstances to obey the orders of people he hates. He cannot directly oppose the unholy nexus comprising Palit, the administration, and leaders of the ruling party, as that would place his life in jeopardy. The spectre, invisible to these characters, has no qualms in revealing the real nature of Manibhusan. Dutt tries to win the audience’s sympathy for him through the spectre. Krishnachura reminds us of the Elizabethan jester whose witty remarks, laced in irony and satire, captivate the audience’s attention. He quotes a speech where Subhas Chandra Bose calls for the ruthless massacre of the colonial British. Girin, true to his nature, threatens to teach him a lesson for quoting Mao. Krishnachura replies with characteristic irony: I hope you are paying attention, Shivsambhu-babu? Such a battle cry can never be Indian in spirit. Here we find Subhas Chandra urging us to teach our enemies a lesson. This cannot be Indian. Only Nehru’s and Gandhi’s words are Indian in the true sense of the term. Did you know Subhas Chandra was Chinese? … I feel Kshudiram, Bhagat Singh and Surya Sen were Chinese. Our role is to keep mum even if they take away our food. That is Indian in spirit.60

He reports the arrest of a local youth, who was a singer and not involved with party politics at all: He [Bikas, the arrested singer] was reading the notations of a song while travelling. A police detective sitting next to him decoded the encrypted message. Bikas claimed that he was reading musical notations of a song by Tagore, not an encrypted message by communists. The detective let him off then. But the police appeared at his house two days later. The officer claimed that Tagore had been arrested, and he had confessed on being interrogated. Bikas is now in the Dum Dum Jail. Probably he has Tagore for company.61

Krishnachura’s stock of irrelevant tales seems infinite. He makes intelligent use of his ability to speak incessantly on various occasions to buy time. In the third scene, he masterminds the plan to facilitate Swapan’s escape. He manages to fool his adversaries more often than not. His jests desert him at the end, when a group of goons, angered by their inability to track Swapan, beat him up mercilessly. He attempts to maintain his characteristic demeanour, but fails. Dutt carefully designs a long episode where the violent torture of the old man is dramatized. The scene makes the audience hate the likes of Girin with greater intensity. Such visibly brutal assault on an innocent old man cannot be justified in any way. Dutt presented violence on stage to project his political adversaries as dehumanized monsters on other occasions too, to motivate the anger of his audience. Girin stabs Swapan’s blind brother Pallab to death on stage. The positioning of this scene is also significant. The long, farcical sequence, where Krishnachura dupes Swapan’s adversaries, is followed by the gruesome impact of Pallab’s murder. The brevity and finality of this episode contrast starkly with the 60 61

Ibid., 126. Ibid., 110.

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preceding sequence. Such structuring enhances the impact on the audience. The list of violent episodes continues as Purnima is molested and assaulted by Palit and his pet police officer. She is later used as a bait to lure Manibhusan into obeying Palit’s orders. Manibhusan loves Purnima. So, she is arrested and he is told that she will be raped in custody unless he helps them track Swapan. The violation of women on stage is another of the sensational techniques that Dutt uses to turn his audience against his adversaries. Thus, Dutt theatricalizes the play in a manner that ensures a reaction in favour of the exploited class represented by Swapan and Krishnachura. Dusvapner Nagari, in spite of its attractive style, was limited to the evocation of anger on the part of the audience. Dutt did not attempt sustained political analysis of the events that marked contemporary Calcutta. The points emphasized by Dutt in Dusvapner Nagari were already part of popular assumptions concerning the nexus of the ruling party with anti-social goons. As a result, the audience’s anger that he attempted to evoke (and, perhaps, succeeded to an extent) would be largely inconsequential. Dusvapner Nagari whips up the audience’s hatred of a few characters that they see on stage. But, on account of its lack of political analysis, does not inspire the audience to reflect on the political situation at hand and identify Lakshman Palit as only a cog in an exploitative capitalist machinery. The play certainly entertains and engages the audience, but does not make them think. The episodes of entertainment engineered into the plot, which appear in rapid succession, do not allow room for objective distance on the part of the audience from the events on stage, which is essential for reflection on the larger social context. Showing Palit hit by Purnima’s footwear may ensure the audience’s raucous applause in the playhouse, but it achieves little as a sequence in political theatre. Dutt’s play based on the French Revolution, Nil Sada Lal, premiered at Rabindra Sadan, Calcutta, on 13 April 1989. It was produced by the PLT in collaboration with Alliance Française, Calcutta, to mark the bicentennial of the French Revolution. Nil Sada Lal is unique among Dutt’s history plays as he makes a conscious attempt to connect a landmark event in world history to an episode in India’s freedom struggle. The history of people’s revolution cannot be demarcated by petty geographical boundaries. Hence, the Bengali working class may seek inspiration in the Vietnamese resistance to American aggression (described in Dutt’s Ajeya Vietnam) or in the American Civil Rights movement (Manusher Adhikare). Dutt makes no attempt to consciously find relevant connections in Indian history to aid his audience in appreciating these plays. In Nil Sada Lal, however, he incorporates Tipu Sultan’s heroic resistance to Lord Wellesley’s British army as an Indian version of the revolution in France led by Danton and Robespierre against King Louis XVI and his feudal loyalists. Tipu Sultan’s French aides enact a play for him based on the revolution in their country. It is through this enactment that the similarity in Tipu’s struggle for independence and that of the French populace for their legitimate rights is emphasized. As Tipu’s friends act on stage, the British army arrives at his capital Seringapatnam. He is forced to take leave of the actors and join his army in resisting the British. His French aide Gurjon comments.

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This [Tipu’s battle against Wellesley’s forces] has made our play more dramatic. If there is a battle punctuating scenes in the play, then the revolution shown in the play and the revolution in real life become one and the same.62

Gurjon instructs the actors, attired as Robespierre, Danton, and others, to become real soldiers. The actors, without changing their costumes, prepare to fight with real weapons. Dutt secures the coinciding of reality—Tipu’s heroic resistance to the British forces—with events in the play put up by the French with the help of this play-within-a-play. Such metatheatre is more pronounced on stage than it is in published form. Dutt uses separate curtains to denote the events in Tipu’s castle at Seringapatnam and the episodes set in France. The opening stage direction in the second scene clearly demarcates the stage: the inner curtain marks the portion of the stage that is meant to represent France. Thus, Dutt utilizes the simple theatrical convention of the curtain as a semiotic signifying device to present the historical parallelism he desires thematically. We may conclude this chapter with the observation that Dutt loved theatre too much to use it merely as propaganda. He chose his subject matter carefully so that he could reach out to the masses politically. At the same time, he consciously incorporated elements into his theatre that would engage educated literature—and theatre— lovers like himself. In this light, we could continue from Nil Sada Lal to assess the various metatheatrical devices that he used elsewhere. Tiner Taloyar (1971) is self-reflexive in the sense that it is a play about the state of theatre in Calcutta in the nineteenth century. In the second scene, members of the Great Bengal Opera rehearse their upcoming production Mayurvahan. The haphazard rehearsal process, punctuated by various comic interruptions, serves to entertain the audience. At the same time, it turns our attention to the chief thematic concern in Tiner Taloyar: the disoriented state of theatre in nineteenth-century Calcutta. In the third scene, the Great Bengal Opera plays Mayurvahan before a packed house. Dutt explores various possibilities of this play-within-a-play. Mayna essays the role of Anuradha in Mayurvahan. She is able to overcome various obstacles during her performance and, virtually, become Anuradha. Benimadhab dismisses Birkrishna from his presence when the latter comes looking for Mayna, proclaiming that the actor has completely transformed into Anuradha. Dutt conveys the plight of actors like Mayna who could only hope for respect by assuming their stage persona. In real life, they were treated as mere objects by the so-called educated sections of society. When Benimadhab enters the stage as Vikram in Mayurvahan, he needs to leave aside his assumed identity and address the audience as Benimadhab. He reprimands the drunken babus, whose intemperate lust drives them to clamour for Mayna to dance before them. Dutt, through Benimadhab, reminds us of the role of theatre as a means of value education for contemporary society. The transformations in the characters as they switch from their role in the ‘outer’ play to that in the ‘inner’ play carry greater impact when performed on stage. The assumption of a new identity on stage, complete with different sets of costumes, expressions, and businesses, is conveyed 62

Dutt, Natak Samagra, vol. 7, 354.

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more effectively and amazingly to an audience in the playhouse than to a reader of the text. The famous ending of Tiner Taloyar presents a play-within-a-play-within-aplay. The Great Bengal Opera plays Dinabandhu Mitra’s Sadhabar Ekadasi instead of Priyanath’s patriotic Titumir because Benimadhab, apparently, does not wish to court the wrath of the British rulers. Benimadhab, who plays Nimchand in Mitra’s satirical play, seems inebriated, speaking in a disoriented fashion. All of a sudden, he switches to the title character in Titumir. He alters his costumes on stage and begins to act his designated part in Titumir. The other members of the group pick up their cues with new-found enthusiasm and switch to their roles in Titumir. Even Mayna, who is seated with Birkrishna among the audience, joins in to play her part from her position in the house. The transformation from Sadhabar Ekadasi to Titumir carries an added dimension in performance. Stage directions in Tiner Taloyar indicate changes in set and props as the actors quickly switch roles. The visual disorder on stage, caused by such sudden transformations, contributes to the dramatic impact of the ending of the ‘outer’ play. Mayna’s participation in Titumir suggests an extension of the ‘outer’ play into the playhouse, among the audience. Ebar Rajar Pala (1977) presents a roving theatre group where one of the actors, who loves to impersonate various kings, is made a king in real life. In the opening scene, we find the actors rehearsing Kansavadha, which they plan to perform as guests of Tridib Singha. Bhishmalochan, the mutineer who seeks shelter from Tridib, abruptly intrudes the rehearsal to turn the mythological play-within-a-play into a source of comic laughter in performance. The actors try their best to shield Bhishmalochan from his pursuer, giving rise to various comic situations on stage. For instance, Nani Adhikari plays the part of a sanyasi who is lost in philosophical ruminations, and Bhishmalochan’s words are attributed to him by the other actors. The chaos and tomfoolery on stage certainly entertain the audience. Simultaneously, audience members who are aware of the legend of the cruel king Kansa identify a latent inclination in Banku to play the role of a monarch with unchallenged authority. Once Banku becomes king, Dutt establishes his inability to distinguish between the roles played by him on stage and his actual responsibilities as the new ruler. Banku decrees that his entrance into the court must be preceded by the ceremonial announcement of a herald. His stage roles overshadow his responsibilities in real life. Dutt’s satire is based on the idea that the politician, like the actor, only plays a role. Just like the actor must obey the instructions of the director, the politician is the puppet of the capitalist. At the end, Banku is taught a stern lesson by Nani, who plays Adolf Hitler, assuming life before Banku and predicting the inevitable fall of all dictators. Incidentally, Banku loves to play the role of Hitler in his real life. Dutt uses metatheatre to identify Banku with the archetype of dictatorial rulers. Kunjabihari Chakrabarti, the protagonist of Ajker Shahjahan, seeks to freeze time and live in the past. His earlier roles on stage, when he was revered as the finest actor in Bengali theatre, represent an alternate reality for him. Ajker Shahjahan opens with Kunja and his friend Nanigopal enacting Manmatha Ray’s Chand Sadagar. Kunja plays the title character, while Nani plays all other parts. Unlike the performance of Titumir at the end of Tiner Taloyar, there are no changes in costume or décor suggested to mark the ‘inner’ play. Thus, the common theatregoer, unaware of Chand

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Sadagar, might find it difficult to identify the allusions. Dutt, however, manages to engage those enthusiastic about the history of Bengali theatre by referring to Ray’s 1927 play. Later, Kunja and Nani enact the final scene of Misarkumari which, according to Kunja, was a noteworthy play championing the rights of blacks. In the third scene of Ajker Shahjahan, Kunja and Kumkum enact the final scene of Othello. Lines from Othello may not be identified by all members of the audience. However, the actors’ perfect enactment would strike a chord in the hearts of those aware of Shakespeare’s theatre. Kunja’s absolute dedication to his parts is exemplary. In this episode, he even manages to arrange for a costume befitting Othello and a burning candle, which is an important stage prop in the scene that Kunja chooses to enact. The ageing actor remembers all his earlier parts and leaves no stone unturned to ensure a near-perfect performance. The fact that he only feigns a performance in his own room, without an audience, does not trouble him. He claims that he does not remain himself but transforms into the character that he essays. While playing Othello, he seems unable to withdraw himself as he feigns murdering Desdemona (Kumkum) and almost strangulates her. Dutt suggests Kunja’s metaphorical death at the end through his inability to act in any of the roles that he earlier cherished. Besides the examples in Tiner Taloyar, Ebar Rajar Pala, and Ajker Shahjahan, Dutt’s penchant for metatheatrical devices was evident elsewhere, too. For instance, we find Madhusudan Dutt in Danrao Pathikbar, trying to rid himself of Rebecca’s ghost. The visitation of the ghost would remind theatre lovers of Banquo’s ghost appearing before Macbeth. The audience sees Madhusudan speak to the spirit, which exists in his mind, on stage. The words with which the poet tries to chase away the spirit are Shakespeare’s (Othello, Act III): Avaunt! Begone! Thou didst set me on the rack! I swear’tis better to be much abused than to know’t a little!

Dutt spent his life searching for suitable style and technique that would carry his message most effectively to the masses. However, his adroit use of metatheatre shows us that he did not wish to communicate only with the working-class audience. The uninitiated theatregoer could not have comprehended most of the metatheatrical— and even directly Shakespearean—allusions that Dutt incorporated into several of his plays. It is only the intellectual sections of the audience, abreast of world classics, who would be able to appreciate Dutt’s use of metatheatre. His love for theatre as an art form was evident in such plays (Image 4.2). The provocative content of Dutt’s theatre often led his works to court controversies, with respect to both the right and the left of the political spectrum. As an individual, too, he was hardly ever far from controversies. His insistent advocacy of his role as a political propagandist has also led to his aesthetic contribution to Indian theatre not getting due intellectual attention. In the final chapter of this book, we will closely look at the legacy that Dutt has left behind and attempt to identify the manner in which he deserves remembrance.

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Image 4.2 PLT’s Darao Pathikbar (1980): Utpal Dutt (centre of stage) plays Michael Madhusudan Dutt. Courtesy Natya Shodh Sansthan Archives, Kolkata

Chapter 5

Legacy: Which Utpal Dutt Lives On?

Throughout this book, I have examined the aesthetic qualities of Dutt’s theatre in the light of his steadfast commitment to Marxist sociopolitical philosophy. He had to balance his political purpose with his passion for theatre as an art form. Creative art cannot be adequately assessed in terms of the political identity of the artist. Yet, we often confuse ourselves through our inability to distinguish between creativity and commitment, expecting one as we assess another. This is especially true for an avowedly partisan artist like Dutt. As discussed earlier, he asserted that he was only an agitator or a political propagandist. Such pronouncements only served to lend false credence to incomplete, prejudiced assessments of Dutt’s theatre. He was certainly a staunch supporter of Marxist ideology, but this does not imply that his involvement with theatre was only a means to achieve his political purpose. His theatre prompts us to study the dynamic relationship between his politics and his identity as a creative artist. A creative artist may prefer the politics of a particular group, but he cannot belong to a party, governed entirely by ‘party line’ or discipline. His work is controlled by his unique imaginative faculty. His affinity for a particular political ideology may influence his social identity, but this ‘social’ self and his ‘creative’ self may not necessarily coincide. Great artists are able to assimilate the interaction of these ‘selves’ within their persona, which lends their work greater variety.1 Dutt’s faith in Marxism motivated him to prioritize his identity as a propagandist over that as an artist. His insistent emphasis on his role as a political propagandist has aided the formation of rather simplistic views of his theatre. However, if we read his works with necessary objectivity, we arrive at a more nuanced understanding of his theatre. He was committed to the cause of the proletariat while structuring his theatre. Simultaneously, as we have seen in our discussion, he could not entirely disregard the claims of the artist within him. The conflict between these two ‘selves’ troubled him. In his best works, he was able to transcend this conflict and entertain the proletariat without 1

On this, see Samrat Mukhopadhyay, “Chalun, Utpal Dutt-ke Banchai”, in Sabda Sahitya Patrika: Utpal Dutt Visesh Sankhya, 2010; and Dipendu Chakrabarti. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0_6

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compromising on his political purpose or aesthetic qualities of his theatre. However, in case of some other plays, he lost his way somewhat, and the urge to suit his style to the working class adversely affected both his political purpose and aesthetics. We have encountered such situations in our analysis of sections of Ma¯nusher Adhikare, Dusvapner Nagari, Eba¯r Ra¯ja¯r Pa¯la¯ as well as sequences in several other plays. Dutt, at his best, had the potential to entertain even as he made his audience reflect deeply on the sociopolitical conditions that facilitate class exploitation. Productions like Tiner Taloya¯r, Yuddhang Dehi or Janata¯r A¯phim, among others, strike us immediately in this regard. He did not require to adopt a flag-waving commitment to rib-tickling, visceral humour as his version of ‘entertainment’. However, that is precisely the style that became his brand of sorts, and he could rarely transcend it. The conflict referred to above was not unique to Dutt alone. One may trace its roots to the communist cultural movement in India, which has traditionally struggled to keep asunder artistic representation meant for the masses (which must, therefore, prioritize political purpose) and that which must exist for aesthetic merits. Any talented artist working within the broad ambit of the communist movement in India would have felt somewhat confused by the contrary commitments demanded by his artistic identity and the party line, not quite realizing which should be prioritized. Perhaps, it is only flashes of sheer individual brilliance that could enable an artist to transcend such a quagmire, as we have seen in case of Dutt for some of his plays. On other occasions, artists struggled to cope with the often-contrary claims of aesthetics and commitment to party line. Rather than following the clichéd style of IPTA performances, Dutt experimented with various traditions of European proscenium theatre, indigenous theatre, and socialist art popular around the world, to try and identify a theatre style that would be aesthetically satisfying and popular. If a dramatist is driven by political propaganda alone, it seems to the audience that he speaks through each character. Dutt wrote certain plays meant to tutor principles of Marxism to his audience. Srinkhal Chhara is a case in point. The majority of his plays, however, do not contain characters who are mouthpieces of the dramatist. His theatre was enlivened by dialogues, arguments, and counter-arguments and coloured by conflict of ideas and counter-ideas. During his troubled association with the IPTA, Dutt was blamed for being a Trotskyite. Unlike other members of the organization, who revered Stalin without attempting to comprehend his ideas, he believed that it was necessary to understand Stalin’s principal adversary in order to know him better.2 This characteristic trait of weighing an idea against its opposite before judging its worth greatly influenced his theatre. It is impossible to compartmentalize such an artist on the basis of his political commitment, in spite of his own desperate attempts to the contrary. In his pre-Minerva career, he performed quite a few of Tagore’s plays successfully at a time when the poet was seen as bourgeois (and thus, a class enemy) in communist circles. In fact, Dutt’s attitude to classics was a major point of departure from the established party line which influenced the IPTA. He realized it was necessary to stage classics as well as episodes from the epics and Puranas

2

See Dutt, Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, 33.

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(albeit, those relevant to contemporary reality) to reach out to the masses.3 The IPTA, fixated on the communist party line, did not realize the worth of classics. Dutt’s brief association with the organization was testimony to the fact that inflexible party hegemony would prove stifling to an artist. Whenever an individual’s worth and fame threatens to supersede the relevance of an organization, leftist political leaders, traditionally, have attempted to limit the individual’s progress through typical allegations, like ‘counter-revolutionary’, ‘reactionary’, and so on. Dutt was aware that an artist could not afford to sacrifice his independent creative consciousness in attempting to popularize a political ideology. Why then did he feel the need to associate in such close quarters with a political party? Dutt cut his intellectual tooth while he was a student of English literature at St. Xavier’s College. He read as widely as he could. Marx, Lenin, Hegel, Feuerbach, and Kant featured regularly on his reading list. Such a habit was not unexpected in a serious student eager to keep himself abreast with contemporary intellectual developments. He was deeply influenced by Marxist thought during these years. However, this does not suggest that the growth of his creative consciousness, which was already veering towards a career in professional theatre, was entirely determined by his political beliefs. If we look at his contributions to the Saint Xavier’s Magazine, we do not find strands of thought that may be identified as politically provocative in any way. He wrote on contemporary Bengali novels, western classical music, Bertrand Russell, and modernist poetry. His play published in the college magazine, Betty Belshazzar, was similarly apolitical. Thus, his creative merit and intellect seem to have initially developed independent of his political convictions. His training under Geoffrey Kendal’s tutelage provided him with a serious ambition: he was convinced that he wanted to earn his living as a professional actor. He formed the Little Theatre Group with this purpose in mind. Sol Bekhor, Dutt’s friend and member of the LTG, tells us that they used live music played by a chamber orchestra during their performances. Bekhor, a student of the Calcutta School of Music and an avid violinist, conducted the orchestra on Dutt’s suggestion.4 Such a daring endeavour was widely appreciated as using live music was no mean task for an amateur company comprising college students. These incidents point to Dutt’s commitment to theatre as an art form which had to be mastered through rigorous, disciplined practice. It is safe to assert that he was devoted to Shakespeare, and not Marx, during these years. Once Dutt left the precincts of his college and entered the world of professional theatre, he had to face numerous difficulties. His love for theatre led him to embrace financial uncertainties. The decision to rent Minerva Theatre presented a difficult challenge before him. In addition to the monthly rent, he had to bear expenses for advertisement, pay salaries to the workers employed at Minerva, print tickets, and other miscellaneous expenses. In 1959, when he decided to rent Minerva, he was professionally somewhat stable, owing to his appointment as a teacher at South Point School. Indranath Guha, part of Dutt’s first batch of students at South Point, 3

See Dutt, “Little Theatre O A¯mi”, 20. See Sol Bekhor, “Happy Memories—Our Student Days—Birth of the Little Theatre”, Epic Theatre, March 1996.

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tells us that his father Satikanta Guha (founder of the school) thought Dutt ideally suited to become principal of South Point school after him.5 With such an objective in mind, he even exhorted Dutt to write his Master of Arts examination.6 Dutt loved theatre too much to fall for such permanent professional stability which could have hampered his creative pursuits. He was more interested in acting, and the demanding schedule of rehearsals along with performances of new plays thrice a week could hardly be maintained alongside a regular teaching job. Thus, he had no other option but to rescind his teaching position at South Point. It was an amicable parting, which was in no way forced upon Dutt. Around this time, Dutt was desperate to carve a niche in the world of professional theatre, having rented Minerva. He was aware that he needed an audience to turn his dreams into reality. Dutt’s association with the Communist Party enabled him to understand the minds of a large cross-section of people and be abreast with their needs and demands. Further, he needed a dedicated target audience to ensure that his enterprise would be commercially viable. His first-hand experiences with theatre through the fifties and sixties made him realize that such an organized target audience for theatre was available within the ambit of the Communist Party. He was not drawn to communist circles for the sake of philosophical or ideological direction in his art. Rather, he was, first and foremost, an artist; who associated with the party primarily for a fixed target audience. However, he did not associate with the Congress in spite of the fact that it enjoyed parliamentary superiority over the Communist Party for a number of years which coincided with his creative career. Such an association may have fetched him greater attention in pro-establishment mainstream media and other sectors which function under the aegis of the government, and perhaps some more awards may have come his way. But he wanted a fixed audience, which could be guaranteed only within the ambit of the Communist Party. In this context, we should remember that the Group Theatre movement in India was itself a legacy of the IPTA, affiliated to the Communist Party of India. So, Dutt’s association with the Communist Party was an essential strategy that would enable him to practise theatre as a weapon to inspire class struggle. Dutt’s search for an assured set of viewers influenced his association with communist politics through the fifties and sixties. It must be remembered that the party at that time was going through a rough patch. A section of radical workers within the party felt that the leadership had turned revisionist and planned to work within the scope of parliamentary democracy. Nehru’s close alliance with the Soviet Union and the simultaneous souring of relations between the Communist Party of Soviet Union and the Communist Party of China caused the radically inclined faction to turn towards their comrades in China for ideological support. The Sino-Indian war of 1962 further strained the factionalism within the Communist Party of India (CPI). Ultimately, the party split in 1964 when the radicals within the CPI broke away to form the Communist Party of India (Marxist). Dutt’s political foresight kept him on the side of the newly formed CPI(M). Soon, the extremist radical Naxalite rebellion broke out in 5 6

Refer Indranath Guha, interviewed over telephone by Uddalak Dutta, 29 September 2021. Indranath Guha, “Sikshak Utpal Dutt”, Epic Theatre, March 1994, 82.

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Bengal in 1967, when the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) broke away from the CPI(M). As we have discussed, Dutt veered towards the Naxalites for a brief period of time, only to realize his mistake soon enough and turn his sympathies back towards the CPI(M). If we look closely at Dutt’s choice of factions within the ambit of communist politics in India, we find that he inevitably sided with the one that he felt would turn out to be comparatively stronger. When the CPI(M) broke away from the CPI in 1964, he understood that the new party was likely to be at the forefront of the communist movement. The evolution of communist politics in India since then has proved Dutt’s assessment to be correct. Similarly, his decision to side with the Naxalites in 1967 was not entirely ideological. It did appear that the CPI(M-L) would emerge more powerful than its progenitor and hijack the space for anti-Congress politics in West Bengal. By the time Dutt returned to the folds of the CPI(M), the Naxalite movement had petered out. Such facts leave us wondering whether Dutt was a political opportunist of sorts. Even if we concede that his actions represent political opportunism to an extent, we should remember that he was fighting a lonely, arduous battle against the system to usher in political rebellion through theatre. He was desperate to align his work to the mainstream of communist politics to ensure popularity of his political theatre. He could not have done without disguises in order to sustain his art. Dutt never became a member of the Communist Party, either before or after the split. However, he was not ideologically diffuse at any stage of his career. He was conscious that all his apparent compromises were made with the intention of carrying his art to the masses. The CPI(M)—the party that generally comes to mind in case we accept Dutt’s misleading classification of himself as a propagandist—did not necessarily treat him as one of their own. In fact, the party had issued a statement against Dutt, publicly calling for his dissociation from all its activities: It is hereby notified to all members and friends of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) that the theatre artist Utpal Dutt was never a member of the Communist Party of India, nor is he now a member of the Communist Party of India (Marxist). Earlier he had propagandized in favour of the Communist Party of India, and for the Communist Party of India (Marxist) after the split in the party. The party certainly gained from his efforts, but so did he and his troupe gain popularity. Today, Utpal Dutt has sided with the extremists and is canvassing against our party. He has chosen his own path. He is not a member of the party that we may take any disciplinary action against him. We request our party members and friends not to associate in any way with the artist Utpal Dutt and his troupe—not to invite them to our party meetings or other events.7

Dutt’s political isolation seemed to have reached a point of no return after the performance of Tir in 1967. As we have discussed, he was arrested on 24 December 1967 and released from jail on 3 January 1968 after he had submitted a controversial ‘declaration’. He was even suspended from his own theatre group. He had to depend on the aesthetic brilliance of his subsequent play, Manusher Adhikare, to bring himself round. His identity as a political propagandist failed to aid him in any way. 7

CPI(M) Board of Editors (West Bengal), “Utpal Dutt Sambandhe Party-Bijnapti”, Ganasakti (Evening Daily), 8 September 1967.

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Dutt’s passion for theatre, his wide reading on the subject, and, perhaps most importantly, his early interaction with Kendal’s Shakespeareana had prepared him adequately for a professional career in theatre. His search for an organized audience brought him close to mainstream communist politics. This proved to be a symbiotic connection of sorts: the party gained votes out of his plays, especially his street plays which were written for election campaigns; Dutt, on the other hand, was guaranteed a set of dedicated spectators, owing to the historical association between the Group Theatre movement in India and the Communist Party. His sympathy for Marxism certainly strengthened this association. Of course, we must remember that the aesthetics of his work contributed to sustained popularity over three decades. Dutt’s experiments with technique prove his consummate mastery of theatrical devices. He knew how to enthral his audience and force them into a receptive state which would enable him to carry his message effectively. His commitment to Marxist principles of art made him downplay the importance of style and technique in his theatre, claiming that content was of primary importance.8 In reality, however, he relied on technique to popularize many plays which were not very different from each other in terms of content. Many of his plays shared a prototypical structure. In an attempt to justify his clarion calls for rebellion, he would often design political adversaries (Congress leaders, American or British imperialists) with similar characteristics. He would present a group of rebels, led by a heroic leader. The rebellion would be shown to spread far and wide, destined for future success even if the rebels faced short-term setbacks. It may be argued that such an assessment does not apply to all of Dutt’s plays, as we have seen in this book. Yet, we cannot disregard the fact that he often repeated content. His mastery of technique was pivotal in ensuring that a large number of people watched his plays in spite of apparent repetition in content. He managed to add new complications and perspectives to the set pattern through his adroit mastery of craft. This ensured that monotony never set into his productions. Such prioritization of technique over content would not have been possible for one who was devoted to his political ideology to the exclusion of artistic considerations. The timeless quality of his plays depended on his expertise as an artist, and not on his politics. We notice fine artistic nuances in his early works, but he sacrificed artistic subtlety later, as he strived to make his point too apparent. Interestingly, as we have seen in our discussions, his works were politically most effective when he did not try too hard to prove his point. His obsession with his identity as a propagandist led him to ignore this reality. An inclination in political theatre (of hammering a point home rather than putting it across aesthetically and subtly) became an inflexible norm in many of his works. This model which he created adversely affected his talents as an artist. It must be emphasized that his works would also have been more effective as political theatre, had he not trapped himself in his own model. The fact that Dutt could function within the broad ambit of the communist cultural movement in spite of the various contradictions within the party, and himself, proves his mettle as an artist. It is interesting that Dutt wrote plays like Leniner Dak or 8

See Dutt, “Mukhomukhi”, interview by Bibhas Chakrabarti, 102–103.

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Muktidiksh¯a which were concerned with the growth of communism around the world, but he never wrote anything which would directly criticize the communist movement in his own country. One may argue that Leniner Dak or Muktidiksh¯a were criticisms of the betrayal of the Left utopia in Bengal by inference. We wonder why a dramatist— known to often overcook his point—did not directly question the flaws evident within the communist establishment, especially after the shift of power dynamics in West Bengal in 1977. A Marxist intellectual of his calibre could not have been blind to the glaring flaws of the communist movement in India. His odd silence on the numerous faults courted by the communists was partly influenced by the fear that his criticisms may be used as weapons by political adversaries of the communists, whom he could never aid. The more potent fear concerned the loss of popularity. Both ideologically and professionally, he had to get across to the masses to ensure his survival as an artist. He knew that he was guaranteed a committed audience as long as he was associated with leftist politics. This explains his reticence in directly calling out the faults of the communists in India in spite of overwhelming evidence. Similar double standards mark his attitude to international events that reflect the imperialist designs of communist global powers, especially those of the Soviet Union. In Barricade, we find Dutt calling out the Nazis for their authoritarian dominance in Germany in the 1930s. However, he has remained silent with respect to several incidents where the Soviet Union tried to strong-arm nations (especially in eastern Europe) into accepting its control in politics and governance during the Cold War. We may recall the invasion of Czechoslovakia by Soviet Union-led Warsaw Pact troops in 1968, the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956, the Soviet occupation of the Baltic states of Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia in 1940, Soviet aggression in Poland in 1939, among other prominent instances. We have discussed Dutt’s hero-worship of communist leaders like Lenin and Stalin. So, his strange silence on issues that deserve to be criticized (in terms of the anti-imperial stance championed by Dutt himself in most of his works) exposes his double standards as a practitioner of political theatre. Had he looked critically at activities of communist regimes around the world, just as he celebrated their achievements, his political theatre would have gained greater credibility. As an artist with a keen insight, Dutt owed it to his readers/audience to present contemporary reality without any bias whatsoever. Even if we keep pragmatic compulsions in mind, Dutt’s reticence in this context represents shirking of responsibility as a practitioner of political theatre. The impact that Dutt had on post-Independence Bengali theatre was not analogous to that of most of his predecessors. He was not the first politically committed dramatist in Bengali theatre; neither was he the only one to perform plays that were popular as well as aesthetic. Yet, he amalgamated his art with his politics in a manner not popular before him. It may be argued that dramatists like Dinabandhu Mitra and Bijon Bhattacharya briefly interacted with politics in some of their work. Dutt, however, was unique in that he interacted with contemporary politics much more directly, often naming his intended political targets in his plays. When we analyse Dutt’s legacy in Bengali theatre, we come across strangely scant references since his demise. The theatre group Nandiranga performed Dutt’s Megh, directed by Somnath Mukhopadhyay, in 1994–1995. The National Theatre Festival 2000, organized by the National

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School of Drama, featured Turup Ka Patta—Hindi translation of Dutt’s Turuper Tas (The Ace). Rabindra Bharati University performed Dutt’s Simanta in 2002–2003, directed by Subhabrata Sinha Ray. Bratya Basu wrote Sateroi July (Seventeenth July) with the backdrop of the communal riots that broke out in Gujarat in 2002. It premiered on 17 July 2004, performed by the troupe Ganakrishti. The play was indebted to Dutt’s Manusher Adhikare. Dutt had warned his audience against racist prejudice, while Basu critiqued religious fanaticism which, according to him, was the most threatening divisive force. Initially, the supposed lack of adequate recognition for Manusher Adhikare as an important source of inspiration for Sateroi July led to some confusion.9 Contemporary reviews of Sateroi July did not refer to the genesis of the play.10 The magazine Bishay Theatre brought out a special issue on Sateroi July in November 2004. Subsequent performances credited Dutt with greater clarity of purpose. Tickets designed for a recent performance of Sateroi July by the troupe Thealovers on 23 March 2018 at G. D. Birla Sabhagar, Kolkata, show Dutt’s name cited with due credit.11 The Government of West Bengal organized a festival of Dutt’s plays in Kolkata in 2005. Baharampur Repertory Theatre performed Manusher Adhikare at Madhusudan Mancha on 21 August 2005 as part of the festival. Dutt’s long-time associate Asit Basu directed the production and played Leibowitz. The repertory had also published a few interviews and documents relevant to the production in a pamphlet called Black Power.12 The Siliguri-based group Damama performed Dutt’s Dilli Chalo in 2005, directed by Partha Chaudhuri. Shohan performed Megh in 2005. Anish Ghosh, who directed the performances of Megh, revealed in an interview with me that their chief motivation behind choosing Megh was that it was never staged by Dutt.13 The acclaimed film director Rituparno Ghosh’s The Last Lear (Planman Motion Pictures, 2007) bears strong resemblance to Dutt’s Ajker Shahjahan. The poster used for the film’s publicity did not carry Dutt’s name. However, the detailed list of cast and crew mentioned Dutt in the “writing credits” section.14 One may argue that even in the case of the few artistic endeavours which refer back directly to Dutt’s work, 9 Tickets printed for the inaugural performance did not mention Dutt (a ticket designed for the premiere at the Academy of Fine Arts is preserved at the Natya Shodh Sansthan archives). Ganakrishti published a souvenir (titled Ganakrishti Natyotsav 2004) on completion of their theatre festival in 2004, which opened with Sateroi July. It contained detailed lists of actors and crew for plays which were performed at the festival. Here, Utpal Dutt was mentioned, along with others, under the head “kritajnata” (indebtedness). Manusher Adhikare, however, was not mentioned. 10 For instance, see Maitreyi Chatterjee, “Theatre of hatred”, The Statesman, 3 December 2004. 11 An image of the ticket may be viewed online at www.eventshigh.com/detail/kolkata/4df011465 7c53938f0e6871ab8bfd270-17th-july-by-bratya-basu. Accessed on 25 February 2019. 12 The pamphlet carries several essays explaining the contemporary relevance of Ma¯nusher Adhika¯re. Interested readers may turn to Asit Basu, “Manusher Adhikare: Abar Je Karane”, Black Power, 2005; and Samik Bandyopadhyay, “Manusher Adhikare: Abar Je Karane”, Black Power, 2005. 13 Anish Ghosh, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 25 September 2020. 14 The poster as well as the detailed list of cast and crew is available at www.imdb.com/title/tt1039 969/fullcredits/?ref_=tt_ov_st_sm. Accessed on 25 February 2019.

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he has often not been acknowledged with due importance. This phenomenon is not unique to Dutt’s case. It is typical of Bengali and Indian theatre in general, which is loath to credit sources. The performance of Tin Ki Talwar—Pratibha Agarwal’s Hindi translation of Tiner Taloyar—in Delhi in October 2010 was a noteworthy instance of Dutt’s plays being performed outside Bengal in recent history. The play was produced by Shri Ram Centre Repertory.15 Krishti Sansad performed Muktidiksha in 2013, directed by Sangramjit Sengupta. Calcutta Performers staged Tiner Taloyar in 2014. The director Sukumar Bandyopadhyay claims that Tiner Taloyar was chosen by his group because it was not contingent upon direct political propaganda, and thus, more likely to strike a chord with the contemporary audience. In terms of sheer theatrical quality, Tiner Taloyar supersedes most of Dutt’s other plays.16 Bandyopadhyay has directed 30 performances of Tiner Taloyar till date, first under the banner of Calcutta Performers (2014–2016), and since 2017, as part of the group Abhinayan.17 We may add that the criticism of society apparent in Tiner Taloyar continues to be relevant as most of the putrid value systems that Dutt chose to attack have not been obliterated even today, though they may not be as deeply entrenched in our society as they were in the social order that Dutt represented. Tiner Taloyar is a timeless classic which will continue to capture the imagination of theatre lovers across generations. Surajit Bandyopadhyay, acclaimed actor in contemporary Bengali theatre, wrote a play called Sher Afghaner Tiner Taloyar (The Tin Sword of Sher Afghan, 2015). It was Bandyopadhyay’s homage of sorts to two stalwarts of Bengali theatre—Utpal Dutt and Ajitesh Bandyopadhyay. The dramatist was concerned with the mutual relationship between Dutt and Ajitesh Bandyopadhyay. Naturally, their theatre was not discussed in detail. Shohan performed Dutt’s Dvip (The Island) in 2016. Anish Ghosh, chief advisor of the production, claims that the play was chosen owing primarily to the enthusiasm of the director Niladri Banerjee. However, Ghosh found no particular contemporary relevance for Dvip.18 In recent times, two productions of plays by Dutt deserve special attention. Both Swapnasandhani’s Ekla Chalo Re (directed by Kausik Sen) and Thakurpukur Ichhemato’s Ghum Nei (directed by Saurabh Palodhi) created a stir among theatre lovers. Ekla Chalo Re premiered on 5 April 2019 at Gyan Manch, Kolkata. Kausik Sen claims that Ekla Chalo Re is extremely relevant in the present political context of our

15

Diwan Singh Bajeli, in his review for The Hindu, found the production a worthy recreation of Dutt’s classic. See Diwan Singh Bajeli, “Theatre—Acting out reality”, The Hindu, 28 October 2010. 16 Sukumar Bandyopadhyay, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta, Kolkata, 11 February 2015. 17 Contemporary reviews reflected the general appreciation for the production both among critics and common theatregoers. See, for instance, Ranjan Gangopadhyay, “Utpal Dutter Prati Abhinayaner Sraddharghya”, Ganasakti, 23 June 2018. 18 Ghosh, interview, 25 September 2020.

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country, perhaps even more so than when it was first staged in the 1990s.19 However, he introduced certain noteworthy alterations in order to enhance the relevance of Ekla Chalo Re in the contemporary political context. Sen’s Ekla Chalo Re reconsiders Dutt’s intended target. Dutt, as a propagandist in favour of the communists, attacked the Congress in much of his theatre. Ekla Chalo Re is no exception. The Congress as a political party, as well as Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Patel as individuals, is squarely blamed for the tragedy of the Partition. Nehru and Patel are even mocked in the manner of slapstick in Dutt’s text. However, the right-wing politics espoused by the Bharatiya Janata Party—Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh nexus in contemporary India is much more threatening in the immediate context. The plot of Sen’s Ekla Chalo Re is altered accordingly. Equipped with fine acting and masterly direction, Swapnasandhani’s Ekla¯ Chalo Re has been one of the memorable revivals of Dutt’s works in recent times.20 Thakurpukur Ichhemato’s Ghum Nei premiered on 10 May 2019 at the Academy of Fine Arts, Kolkata. Ghum Nei—not one of Dutt’s better-known plays—was written to highlight the importance of employees’ unions in safeguarding their interests. With the increased dominance of capitalist enterprise today, one may certainly identify contemporary relevance in Dutt’s play.21 The director Saurabh Palodhi attempted to extend the social relevance of Ghum Nei by protesting against atrocities of all capitalists, rather than focus solely on the plight of truck drivers like Dutt did. Such an objective led him to introduce one major change while staging Ghum Nei. Dutt’s original text shows the truck driver Indra managing to successfully cross the dilapidated bridge. In contrast, Palodhi’s staged version ends with Indra having reached only half the way. The audience must exercise their imagination to determine whether he would successfully reach the other side. The metaphor of crossing the bridge must be understood in today’s context. In the face of hedonistic capitalist enterprise, it is foolish to imagine that the workers will be able to successfully resist the onslaught of exploitation immediately. Thus, the Indras of today are perhaps doomed to fail. However, in spite of their apparent failure, they are harbingers of the revolution that

19

Kausik Sen, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 3 October 2020. Contemporary reviews, too, highlighted the topicality of the production. See Vinita Tiwari, “Koushik Sen’s Swapnasandhani to host a three-day theatre festival on completion of 27 years”, Indulge, The Indian Express, 24 May 2019. 20 Interested readers may turn to some contemporary reviews of the production: Ananda Lal, “Review”, The Times of India, 4 October 2019; Utpal Kr. Banerjee, “Delving into Partition’s realpolitik”, Narthaki, https://narthaki.com/info/easterneye/ee82.html. Accessed on 26 November 2021. 21 The director elaborated on the relevance of Ghum Nei today: Saurabh Palodhi, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 4 October 2020. One may also turn to some reviews: Vinita Tiwari, “Iccheymoto [sic] set to stage an adaptation of Utpal Dutt’s classic play, Ghum Nei”, Indulge, The Indian Express, 10 May 2019; Ananda Lal, “Kolkata Group Wins 4 Awards at META 2020”, https:// kolkatatheatre.com/news/kolkata-group-wins-4-awards-at-meta-2020/. Accessed on 26 November 2021; Anjan Nandi, trans. Rishav Dutta, “Ghum Nei–An old political play about Subalterns on Bhadralok’s theatre stage”, Kaahon Desk, https://www.kaahon.com/theatre/ghum-nei-an-old-politi cal-play-about-subalterns-on-bhadraloks-theatre-stage/. Accessed on 26 November 2021.

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will inevitably come. Ichhemato’s performance of Ghum Nei was recognized nationally especially after it bagged four awards at the Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards 2020. Kousik Kar was adjudged best actor (male) in a supporting role for his performance as Akhlak in Ghum Nei. The award for best costume design was won by Apratim Sarkar and Turna Das. Debdeep Mukherjee bagged the award for best innovative sound design, while Soumen Chakraborty was adjudged joint winner of the award for best light design. Theatre Formation Paribartak’s Titumir premiered on 21 August 2019 at the Academy of Fine Arts, Kolkata. In the face of majoritarian dominance that has come to threaten India’s glorious tradition of religious tolerance in recent years, the relevance of Dutt’s Titumir—which is anti-communal and anti-imperialist in equal measure—is not far to seek.22 The director Joyraj Bhattacharjee attempted to introduce certain stylistic elements which were not part of the original PLT production, even though they have remained completely faithful to Dutt’s text. For instance, he consciously introduced certain difficulties in the movements of his actors by erecting a bamboo scaffolding on stage. So, the trials and tribulations that mark Titumir’s tumultuous life are reflected not just thematically, but also on a more apparent, physical level. The production was critically acclaimed, as much as it was popular among common theatregoers. Chakdaha Natyajan premiered Dutt’s Barricade at the University Institute Hall, Kolkata, on 12 February 2022. The spirited and honest effort of the group in staging a play that is politically charged, as well as challenging in terms of dramaturgy, must be commended. The director Debes Chattopadhyay does not change Dutt’s text, except a few omissions for the sake of time. Barricade, even though written in a different political context, is topical and relevant today.23 We seem to have again reached a point where we need to fight for the right of speaking up for ourselves. Thus, the struggle dramatized in Barricade shall continue to be relevant as long as we seek the courage to speak truth to power. Dutt’s own PLT revived Janata¯r A¯phim in 2022 as part of their fiftieth anniversary celebrations. The inaugural show was held on 29 March 2022 at Madhusudan Mancha, Kolkata. The religious fanaticism that Dutt criticized in his 1991 play is perhaps more relevant now than it was during the original run.24 The demolition of 22

The director elaborated on the relevance of the play. Refer Joyraj Bhattacharjee, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 25 January 2022. Also see Anshuman Bhowmick’s review: Anshuman Bhowmick, “Full of energy: Reviving ‘Titumir’”, The Telegraph Online, 12 June 2020, https://www.telegraphindia.com/culture/arts/theatre-review-howrah-based-theatreformation-paribartak-revives-titumir/cid/1780448. Accessed on 26 January 2022. 23 Barricade strikes a chord even with young theatregoers today, who have not lived through the traumatic ‘70s in Bengal. This author was witness to the enthusiastic response of the audience, attesting the play’s topicality, during the director’s interaction with the audience at the end of the inaugural show of Natyajan’s Barricade, 12 February 2022. 24 Kamalesh Chakrabarti—an experienced member of the group, who plays Somdev Acharya in this production—in an interview with me, reiterated the topical appeal of Janata¯r A¯phim, at a time when the powers that be in India are trying to mix politics and religion into an evil concoction for their petty electoral gains. Refer Kamalesh Chakrabarti, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 4 January 2023.

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the Babri Masjid (6 December 1992; a year after the play was first performed), the Gujarat riots of 2002, the controversial Supreme Court verdict on the Ram Mandir issue, and several recent incidents of majoritarian dominance on religious minorities in India have re-ignited the importance of emphasizing our glorious tradition of tolerance and brotherhood. Thus, the topicality, and indeed, the urgency, of staging Janata¯r A¯phim is beyond question. PLT’s timely revival of Dutt’s classic satire reminds us of the consequences of capitalizing on religion for electoral gains—a deadly design that is common to all authoritarian regimes.25 PLT’s current cast and crew—an admirable mixture of experienced hands as well as enthusiastic beginners—try their best to replicate the magic that their mentor weaved on stage with Janata¯r A¯phim. Theatre lovers will wait expectantly to find out whether this new production can carve its niche alongside the memorable original run of the play. Ashokenagar Natyaanan premiered Dutt’s Dilli Chalo at the Academy of Fine Arts, Kolkata, on 11 September 2022. Borrowing its title from Subhash Chandra Bose’s famous war cry, the play dramatizes, in the mode of a thriller, the modus operandi of six guerillas of the Azad Hind Army, as they attempt to blow up an airport in order to nullify British air superiority. At a time when we suffer exploitation at the hands of our neo-colonialist modern rulers, it is necessary to remind ourselves of the dear cost at which Independence was won. The patriotic legacy of Subhash Chandra Bose and the Indian National Army, and their unwavering commitment to armed struggle against the British, has attracted the attention of generations of Indians. This production is Natyaanan’s fitting tribute to the motherland in the seventy-fifth year of our Independence. With a team of enthusiastic, dedicated cast and crew, the group has put together an exciting revival of Dutt’s play. This relatively new production has the potential to become the definitive modern stage version of Dilli Chalo.26 Ananda Lal—renowned theatre scholar and critic—has recently completed an English translation of Barricade (titled Barricade: Translated from the Text and the Performance). The translation, supplemented with an introduction and exhaustive footnotes, was published by Seagull, Kolkata, in 2021. This scholarly translation is a rare commodity in dramatic literature that brings together the written play-text and a recorded performance of Barricade. Lal’s translation marks an important step in the initiation of academic scholarship on Dutt in English. As evident in the above discussion, there seems to have been a recent surge in enthusiastic exploration of Dutt’s work in contemporary Bengali theatre as well as intellectual circles. Dutt’s theatre is not merely ideological or politically provocative but contains universally significant aesthetic merit which has found renewed relevance in these dark times of neo-colonial oppression, majoritarian dominance, and distortion of our history, culture, and heritage. 25

Reviews of the production praise its timeliness. See Anshuman Bhowmick, “Timely Revival”, The Telegraph Online, 31 December 2022, https://www.telegraphindia.com/culture/arts/timely-rev ival-peoples-little-theatres-janatar-aphim/cid/1906902. Accessed on 4 January 2023. 26 Readers may refer to reviews of the production. See Rishav Paul, “A Review of Ashokenagar Natyaanan’s ‘Dilli Chalo’”, Articulate, 13 October 2022, https://articulate.org.in/a-review-of-ash okenagar-natyaanans-dilli-chalo/. Accessed on 4 January 2023.

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In spite of the recent heartening trend referred to above, one may safely assert that the number of references to Dutt’s work does not seem commensurate with an artist of his merit, considering the massive contribution that he made to Bengali theatre, both in terms of quality and quantity. His plays have not claimed immortality in the hearts of theatre lovers only on account of the political commitment of the dramatist. In fact, the plays discussed above prove that Dutt’s political commitment has little connection to the durability of much of his work. Dutt’s troupe, the People’s Little Theatre, continues to perform plays. However, there has been an evident dip both in terms of quantity and quality of performances. The troupe owes its identity not to its recent performances, but its once-glorious past. It hardly remains to be said that this is not healthy practice for a theatre troupe. One may identify parallels in this regard with the fate of Badal Sircar’s troupe, Satabdi. This tendency for a group to implode after the messiah passes on points to a general occurrence of sorts. The LTG and the PLT owed the niche that they had carved in Bengali theatre primarily to their undisputed leader, Utpal Dutt. His supreme authority within the groups was unchallenged not only on account of his superiority as a theatre artist, but also his legendary erudition. His dominant influence over his associates led promising actors to often try and consciously imitate his acting style, and even his mannerisms, on stage. Such an overwhelming influence was perhaps an impediment to critical exchanges within the troupes. His associates were too overawed by him to realize how his artistic legacy could be taken forward. This was the inevitable consequence of an individual, who was too far ahead of any of his associates, leading a team. It would be harsh to consider the absence of the succeeding generation of directors or actors of comparable merit as a failure on Dutt’s part. He could not help the fact that his awe-inspiring scholarship,27 love for theatre, and compassion for the people suited him to the life of a theatre artist better than most of his contemporaries. His ‘fault’, if any, lay in the fact that he invested himself too much in his work to have considered the creation of the succeeding actors and directors. One may even consider that we are expecting too much if we believe that a theatre troupe shepherded by a genius like Dutt will continue to function with equal virtuosity even in his absence. Dramatists or directors who transformed modern theatre, like Ibsen, Brecht, or Beckett, remain alive in their legacies. It is difficult to identify Dutt’s legacy in the presentation of politics in theatre, as the ideology that he believed in seems to have lost its relevance, at least in terms of electoral politics in India. We have already discussed the paucity of his plays recorded on video for future generations of theatre enthusiasts. We are left with his distinguishing traits as actor or director to identify the lasting impression that he left on modern Bengali theatre. Certain distinctive features of his direction have seeped into contemporary theatre technique. We may identify, for instance, the use of humour as a definite element of entertainment. Dutt 27

It is perhaps necessary to especially emphasize Dutt’s scholarship here. His erudition was legendary. On this account, Dutt continues to be peerless in Indian (not just Bengali) theatre. We have seen in this book that there are inconsistencies in his legacy; but, even Dutt’s staunch critics will agree, his erudition will remain an inspiration for generations of theatre practitioners, researchers, and theatre lovers in general.

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was not the first to make use of humour in theatre, but his adroit use of it has almost identified him with it in contemporary Bengali theatre. The metatheatrical elements or presentations of visual spectacles on stage that Dutt perfected are not rare events in Bengali theatre any longer. Dutt, in spite of his claims to the contrary, realized that he should be remembered by posterity as a theatre artist, and not as a political propagandist. In this light, we may turn our attention to his efforts towards the creation of a permanent institution where he could independently teach theatre. Dutt handed in a proposal to the Government of West Bengal in November 1987 for the creation of such an institution. Unfortunately, the government did not take necessary steps to turn Dutt’s dream into reality. Two further draft proposals were sent in 1988 and 1990, only to meet the same fate.28 Such apathy on the part of the government is especially unfortunate, considering that the dramatist spent the last sixteen years of his life in a state run by the communists, and that he had a defining role on the cultural front to help them assume power in West Bengal. Sova Sen, in a tribute to the memory of Dutt, had expressed her wish that future generations should remember Utpal Dutt as a dramatist and a writer.29 She had predicted that his roles in Bollywood potboilers would soon be forgotten. Sadly, Dutt’s legacy seems to have met a fate that is the exact opposite of what Sen had wished. We are not keen to preserve his artistic heritage in the theatre, while we often introduce him as a film actor who essayed roles like Bhuvan Shome (in Bhuvan Shome) or Bhavani Sankar (Golmal). The popular identification of Dutt with his roles in commercial cinema is not only true for the non-Bengali-speaking populace. Even the younger generation of Bengalis (those not old enough to have witnessed firsthand Dutt’s most famous productions on stage), unless they have a niche interest or academic expertise in the subject of Bengali theatre, are not well acquainted with his work in theatre. Dutt is generally accepted as one of the pillars of post-Independence Indian theatre. Yet, we have been unable to appraise his works adequately with balance and objectivity. It is part of our responsibility as theatre enthusiasts not to lose ourselves in the quagmire of unsubstantiated opinions where he is either uncritically revered or his theatre dismissed as being merely political propaganda. As attempted in this book, before it is too late, we must consolidate Utpal Dutt’s unique contribution to the legacy of Indian theatre. This is the least that we could do to honour the memory of, arguably, the finest Indian dramatist-director-actor of the twentieth century.

28 29

See Sova Sen, “Asampurna Svapna”, Epic Theatre, March 1994, 68. See Sova Sen, “Kachh Theke Dekha”, in Utpal Dutter Natya Mulyayan, 56.

Appendix

List of First Performances of Utpal Dutt’s Plays The following is a chronological list of the opening performances of the original dramatic works of Utpal Dutt. The primary source consulted is a list of Dutt’s plays collected by Saumen Chattopadhyay, published in Epic Theatre, August 2005, 77– 105 (identified hereafter as “ET”). I have also referred to Samik Bandyopadhyay’s Contemporary Indian Theatre—Interviews with Playwrights and Directors (New Delhi: Sangeet Natak Akademi, 1989; identified as “SB”), Kamal Saha’s “Utpal Dutter Dinlipi: Jivan O Srijan” (in Rangapat Natyapatra, 2008, 1–93; identified as “KS”), and Arup Mukhopadhyay’s Utpal Dutt: Jivan O Srishti (New Delhi: National Book Trust, 2010; identified as “AM”). The dates of the first performances have been taken from the primary source. Deviations in SB, KS, or AM from dates given in ET, if any, have been identified separately. The venues and exact dates for some of the premier shows are not known. I have provided English translations for the titles of plays which have not been discussed in this book. The plays were directed by Utpal Dutt, unless mentioned otherwise Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

Chhayanat

10 December 1958, Biswarupa hall

Little Theatre Group (directed by Tarun Mitra)

Angar

31 December 1959, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Ghum Nei

1959

Silpiman (dir: Bidyut Basu)

(Island)

1959

Silpiman (dir: Bidyut Basu)

Pherari Phauj

28 May 1961, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Dvip

(continued) © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0

165

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Appendix

(continued) Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

Special Train

6 December 1961, Hindmotor, Uttarpara

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

VIP

14 April 1962, Minerva Theatre LTG

Navadurbadalsyam

18 April 1963, Minerva Theatre LTG

(According to KS, the play was written by Ajit Gangopadhyay, while it was performed by the LTG with Dutt as director. KS, 27) Kallol

28 March 1965, Minerva Theatre

LTG

(According to SB, it premiered on 29 March 1965. SB, 21) Guerilla

1964–65

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

(KS claims that it was first performed in 1964. KS, 29) (AM claims that it premiered on 19 May 1965 at Baghbajar Yuva Utsav. AM, 299) Samajtantrik Chal

11 August 1965, in front of Chinsurah Court

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

1965, Presidency Jail

Inmates of the jail

Congor Karagare (In the Prison of Congo) Lauhamanab (KS claims that it was first performed “on Stalin’s birth anniversary” (18 December) in 1965 at Presidency Jail. KS, 31) (AM claims it was first performed in 1965 at Presidency Jail by the jail inmates. AM, 301) Mrityur Atit

27 April 1966

LTG

Ajeya Vietnam

31 August 1966, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Din Badaler Pala

1967

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

(KS claims that it was first performed in December 1966 at Durgapur. KS, 32) (According to AM, it was first performed on 26 December 1966 at Ichhapur. AM, 302) Tir

16 December 1967, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Manusher Adhikare

14 July 1968, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Maynatadanta

18 September 1968, in front of Guest Keen Williams company, Howrah

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

Rifle

23 September 1968, Kasi Biswanath Mancha, Kolkata

New Arya Opera

Yuddhang Dehi

24 November 1968, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Ra¯ter Atithi

6 June 1969, Muktangan

Theatre Workshop (dir. Bibhas Chakrabarti and Chinmay Ray)

Jalianwalabagh

26 October 1969,

Satyambar Opera (continued)

Appendix

167

(continued) Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

Park Circus—at the Jatra Utsav organized by Beniyapukur Puja Committee Leniner Dak

16 November 1969, Minerva Theatre

LTG

Son re Malik

31 December 1969, Tollygunge Agragami sporting ground

Vivek Natya Samaj

(SB claims it was first performed in 1970. SB, 21) Delhi Chalo (March Towards Delhi)

24 August 1970, Mahajati Sadan

Loknatya

Nilrakta

19 September 1970, Mahajati Sadan

Bharati Opera (dir: Gyanes Mukhopadhyay)

Samudrasasan

3 October 1970, Biswarupa hall Loknatya

Suryasikar

28 March 1971, Rabindra Sadan People’s Little Theatre

(SB claims that it premiered on 13 August 1971. SB, 21) Thikana

2 August 1971, Academy of Fine Arts

PLT

Tiner Taloyar

12 August 1971, Rabindra Sadan

PLT

Joy Bangla

14 September 1971, Rabindra Sadan

Loknatya

Sanyasir Tarabari

24 September 1972, Biswarupa hall

Loknatya

Barricade

25 December 1972, Kala Mandir

PLT

Tota

10 February 1973, AIFACS, New Delhi

PLT

Krusvidhha Cuba

10 December 1973, Rabindra Sadan

Abhinetri Sangha

Dusvapner Nagari

16 May 1974, Kala Mandir

PLT

Mao Tse Tung

12 September 1974, Academy of Fine Arts

Tarun Opera

Baisakhi Megh

7 October 1974, Star Theatre

Loknatya

Sim¯anta

24 September 1975, Star Theatre

Loknatya

Lenin Kothay?

26 February 1976, Minerva Theatre

PLT

Turuper Tas (continued)

168

Appendix

(continued) Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

(The Ace)

12 September 1976, Star Theatre

Loknatya

Ebar Rajar Pala

6 January 1977, Kala Mandir

PLT

Din Badaler Dvitiya Pala

3 June 1977, Tollygunge C. I. T Utpal Dutt O Sampraday ground

(SB claims that it was first performed in April 1976. SB, 21) Muktidiksh¯a

12 August 1977, Star Theatre

Loknatya

Titumir

26 January 1978, Rabindra Sadan

PLT

Aranyer Ghum Bhangchhe (The Forest Is Waking Up)

20 September 1978, Minerva Theatre

Ganabani

Chakranta

15 June 1979, Academy of Fine PLT Arts

(KS claims it was first performed at Baker Hall. KS, 54) Sada Posak (White Dress)

21 September 1979, Basudeb Mancha, Kolkata

Ganabani

Stalin:1934

17 November 1979, Academy of Fine Arts

PLT

Kalo Hat

25 November 1979, Rishikes Park, Kolkata

PLT

(The Axe)

10 September 1980, Mahajati Sadan

Ganabani

Danrao Pathikbar

4 December 1980, University Institute Hall

PLT

Svadhinatar Phanki(False Independence)

1 September 1981, Star Theatre

Bharati Opera

Petrol Boma(Petrol Bomb)

24 April 1982, Tarasundari Park, Kolkata

PLT

10 September 1982, Academy of Fine Arts

Nabaranjan Opera

Kuthar

Bibighar (The Wife’s Room)

(AM claims that the opening show was directed by Mrinal Ghosh. AM, 312) Tiljalar Jal (Water from Tiljala)

1983

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

Maloparar Ma

13 October 1983, Academy of Fine Arts

PLT (dir: Pranab Pal)

Srinkhal Chhara

17 November 1983, opposite Rabindra Sadan

PLT (continued)

Appendix

169

(continued) Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

(The Dying City)

9 January 1985

PLT

Ajker Shahjahan

21 April 1985, University Institute Hall

PLT

Mumurshu Nagari

(SB quotes 21 April 1984 as the opening date. SB, 21) Mahavidroha

6 September 1985, Rabindra Sadan

PLT

(KS, 66)

1985

Rangalok (dir. Goutam Sen)

Kacher Ghar

3 March 1987, Panihati

PLT

Nilkantha

(SB claims the play was first performed in 1985. SB, 21) Damama Oi Baje (The Drum Beats)

1 September 1988

Arya Opera

(KS claims it was first performed at Mahajati Sadan. KS, 70) Agnisajya

27 November 1988, University Institute Hall

PLT

(SB quotes 27 December 1988 as the opening date. SB, 21) Dainik Bajar Patrika

11 February 1989, Academy of Fine Arts

PLT

Nil Sada Lal

13 April 1989, Rabindra Sadan

PLT

(We Must See)

7 November 1989, Saltlake

Utpal Dutt O Sampraday

Ekla Chalo Re

25 December 1989, Rabindra Sadan

PLT (dir: Mrinal Ghosh and Bishnupriya Dutt)

Lal Durga

25 November 1990, Rabindra Sadan

PLT

Hame Dekhna Hyay

(AM quotes 25 December 1990 as the opening date. AM, 314) Janatar Aphim

16 December 1991, Academy of PLT Fine Arts

Baniker Mandanda

29 March 1995, Rabindra Sadan PLT (dir: Mrinal Ghosh and Bishnupriya Dutt)

Megh

14 September 1995, Sisir Mancha

Nandiranga (dir: Somnath Mukhopadhyay)

(KS claims that it was first performed on 29 March 1995. KS, 84) Itihaser Kathgaray (continued)

170

Appendix

(continued) Name of the play

Date and venue of first performance

Group

(History’s Witness Box)

18 August 2005, temporary IPTA, Deshbandhunagar stage in front of Minerva (dir: not named) Theatre; part of Utpal Dutt Natyotsav 2005 organized by the Government of West Bengal

(KS, 87) Ajke Amar Chhuti

19 August 2005, Bijan Theatre, Kolkata; part of Utpal Dutt Natyotsav 2005

Swapnasandhani (dir: Kausik Sen)

19 August 2005, Bijan Theatre, Kolkata; part of Utpal Dutt Natyotsav 2005

Abhineya (dir: not named)

(Today is a Holiday for Me) (KS, 87) Kakdviper Ek Ma (The Mother from Kakdvip)

(KS, 87) Lohar Bhim (According to KS, this one-act play was performed only once in Dutt’s lifetime on 25 November 1978 by the group Natasena. KS, 53) (AM claims that the play was performed by Theatre Workshop, directed by Asok Mukhopadhyay, in September 2005 at Sisir Mancha. AM, 308; In an interview with me, Asok Mukhopadhyay himself verified the fact: Refer Asok Mukhopadhyay, interviewed by Uddalak Dutta over telephone, 30 April 2019.) Kiratparva (According to KS and AM, the play was first performed by PLT, directed by Asit Basu, at Rabindra Sadan on 19 August 2008. KS, 90; AM, 314)

Bibliography

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1 I have used “Dutt” for Bengali “Datta” as this was how Utpal spelt his surname in English. I have used the English spelling “theatre” for Bengali “thiyetar”. The accepted English spellings, for names like Marx, Brecht, or Shakespeare, have been used rather than transliterations to Bengali.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0

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Index

A Abhinay, 56 Abhinayan, 159 Academy of Fine Arts, 20–22, 63, 136, 158n9, 160–162, 167–169 aesthetic, xi, xviii, xxv, 9, 25–26, 39, 67, 118–119, 150–152, 155–156, 162 Agarwal, Pratibha, 159 Agnisajya, xvii, 21, 103, 169 Ajeya Vietnam, ix, xiv, 16, 39–47, 50, 61, 67, 81, 146, 166 Ajker Shahjahan, xv, xx, 21, 112–115, 148–149, 158, 169 alienation, 22, 46, 55, 120 Alliance Française, 146 Amateur Shakespearians, xxiv, 3–4, 7 American Civil Rights movement, ix, 146 American Communist Party, 135 Anandabajar Patrika, 23–24, 143n55 Ang¯ar, xii, xiv, xvi, xxi, 14–15, 18, 60, 112, 115, 130–132, 165 antithesis, 123 Ali, Shahdat, 74 anti-imperial, ix, 8, 41, 58, 157 Aristophanes, 39 Aryan, 44–46, 65, 86, 88–89 Ashokenagar Natyaanan, 162

B Bandyopadhyay, Ajitesh, 159 Bandyopadhyay, Anjana, 34 Bandyopadhyay, Partha, xvi, 6n18 Bandyopadhyay, Samik, xi–xii, 3–4, 7n22, 16n50, 20–26, 34n16, 60n50, 121n14, 158n12, 165

Bandyopadhyay, Satya, xxi–xxii, 9n33, 12–13, 18, 43–44, 73n10, 80, 104, 117n1, 120n8, 123n19, 125, 139, 141 Bandyopadhyay, Sukumar, 159 Bandyopadhyay, Surajit, 159 Bagchi, Jaydip, xviii, 24n68 Baharampur Repertory Theatre, xx, 158 Baltic, 52, 157 Banerjee, Anjan, xviii, 24n68 Banerjee, Sumanta, xi Bangladesh War of Independence, 20, 136 Bangladesh, 1 Baniker Mandanda, 22, 169 Barricade, 20 Basu, Hemanta Kumar, xv, 53 Basu, Saurin, 17 Basu, Sudeshna, 23 Beckett, 28, 163 Bekhor, Sol, 153 Belsey, Catherine, 69 Bengali theatre, x–xiv, xix, xxiv–xxv, 3, 9, 18, 23, 25–26, 29, 79, 90, 112, 117–124, 129, 131, 134–135, 142, 148–149, 157, 159, 162–164 Betty Belshazzar, 5, 153 Bharatiya Janata Party, 63, 160 Bhatia, Nandi, xiii, 58n46 Bhattacharjee, Joyraj, 161 Bhattacharya, Bijon, 8, 119, 157 Bhattacharya, Madhu, 34 Bhattacharya, Pasupati, 14 Bhattacharya, Prasanta, xxi, 125–126 Bhattacharya, Umanath, 11, 14 Bharati Opera, 20, 81, 167–168

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 U. Dutta, Utpal Dutt’s Theatre, Performance Studies & Cultural Discourse in South Asia 1, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-2127-0

179

180 Bharucha, Rustom, xiii–xv, 8n29, 120n11, 122n15 Biswarupa, 14, 98, 165, 167 Biswas, Malay, 134 Black Power, xx, 158 body movements, 19, 129 Bolshevik, xiv, 21, 51–52 bourgeois, 10, 28–29, 37, 71, 78–79, 127, 130, 132, 152 Brahmin, 31, 45–46, 90, 104 Brecht, xviii, 3, 23–24, 31n11, 39, 70, 120–124, 163 Brechtian theatre, ix, xviii, xxiv, 39, 122–123 Buddhist, xiv, 20, 35, 45–46, 85, 88–89

C Calcutta Performers, 159 capitalist(s), 15, 22, 24, 33–36, 38, 42–48, 55, 59, 61, 65, 72–73, 77, 108, 115–116, 131, 142, 146, 148, 160 Castro, Fidel, 21 Chakdaha Natyajan, 161 Chakrabarti, Bibhas, xix, 25n73, 156n8, 166 Chakrabarti, Dipendu, xvii, 23n64, 151n1 Chakrabarti, Sudeshna, xvii, 35n17 Chakranta, 21, 168 Chatterjee, Amal, xvi Chatterjee, Anil, 5n17 Chatterjee, Soumitra, 21, 142 Chattopadhyay, Debes, 161 Chattopadhyay, Debiprasad, 12–13 Chattopadhyay, Sunil, 12 Chaudhuri, Partha, 158 Chaudhuri, Parthapratim, xvi Chaudhuri, Salil, 7–8 Chhayanat, 14, 165 China, xxiv, 39, 154 Chinese revolutionary theatre, xxiv, 39 Christian, 104 Cold War, 157 colonial, 19, 61, 90, 96, 110–111, 145, 162 communism, 8, 46, 157 communist, xix, xxii, 8, 21, 36, 42, 45, 50–53, 57, 61, 122, 152–157 Communist Party of China, 154 Communist Party of India (CPI), xix, 2, 11, 16, 18, 54, 74, 138, 154, 156 Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI(M)), 30, 33, 36, 54, 154–155

Index Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) (CPIML), 16, 155 Communist Party of Soviet Union, 154 composition, 126 Congo, ix, 166 Congress, 11, 15–17, 20, 25, 29, 36, 48–50, 53–57, 61, 73, 75, 79, 134, 142, 154, 156, 160 Cornwallis, Lord, 90 costume, 4, 19, 39, 71, 96, 108, 125–126, 128, 135, 147–149, 161 counter-revolutionary, 25n72, 51–52, 153 Cuba, ix, 21, 35, 167 Cultural Revolution, 39 curtain, 119–120, 124, 141, 147 cyclorama, 118 Czechoslovakia, 157

D Dainik Bajar Patrika, 22, 169 Damama, 158 Dan, Prasanta, xx, 12–13, 129n36 Danrao Pathikbar, 21, 168 Datta, Samiran, 8 Datta, Saroj, 12 Datta, Suresh, xvi, 133 Derozio, Henry, xvii, 35, 96, 103–104 design, xxi, 15, 25, 104, 117, 133 dialectics, xix, xxiv, 71–73 dialogue, 24, 46, 71–72, 85, 92, 124–127, 129, 136–137, 141 didactic theatre, xviii, 124 Din Badaler Dvitiya Pala, 11, 168 Din Badaler Pala, 11, 166 director, xi, xv, xix, 3–4, 8, 10, 12–13, 18–19, 25, 71, 105, 112, 118, 121, 124–129, 134 Dramatic Club of Calcutta, 7 Dramatic Performances Control Act, 90, 95 dramaturgy, 19, 54, 116–117, 120, 124, 129, 161 Dusvapner Nagari, xi, xv, 21, 105, 126, 142–146, 152, 167 Dutt, Bishnupriya, xiii, 13n41, 138n51, 169 Dutt, Girija Ranjan, 1 Dutt, Michael Madhusudan, 21, 29, 90, 92, 121n12, 138n52 Dutt, Mihir Ranjan, 2 Dutt, Nilin, 1 Dutt, Sailabala, 1 Dyer, R.A.H, 50

Index E East India Company, 22, 35, 58, 98, 104, 108 East Germany, 25, 41n28, 61 East Pakistan, 48, 136–137 Ebar Rajar Pala, 21, 105–108, 152, 168 Ekla Chalo Re, ix, 22, 159–160, 169 Emergency, xv, 4, 20–21, 53, 105, 107, 142 Enact, xi–xii, 19n56, 34n16, 119n7 Engels, 2 ensemble cast, ix, 127 entertainment, xiv–xv, xxiv, 10, 19, 31, 33, 47, 67, 108, 120–127, 144, 146, 152, 163 Epic Theatre, xvin16, xix–xx, xxviin19, 5n16, 8n26, 28n3, 31–32, 35n17, 39n25, 70, 74n11, 85n25, 112n59, 118n2, 123, 129n34, 133–134, 153–154, 164n28 Eisenstein, 35, 75 experiment, xx, 31–34, 118, 133 F Fanon, Frantz, 26 Farrington, Connor, 6 fascist, 2, 4, 7, 16, 57 Father Weaver, 2 feudalistic, 29 Feuerbach, 2, 153 film industry, xviii, 17, 21, 24–25 First Soviet Writers’ Conference, 30 First War of Independence, ix, 20, 57 First World War, 55 Fo, Dario, 21 folk theatre, 12, 34, 118 Food Rebellion, 47 form, xi, xviii, 9–10, 19–20, 27–34, 54, 122–129 Forward Bloc, 53 France, 22, 146–147 French Revolution, ix, 22, 35, 146 G Galileo, 35, 85, 90 Ganakrishti, 158 Gandhi, Indira, 4, 53, 105, 108, 143 Gandhi, Mahatma, ix, 22, 37, 109 Germany, xv, 16, 53–57, 139, 157 Geming Xiandai Xi, 39 Ghatak, Ritwik, 7–8, 11 Ghosh, Anish, 158 Ghosh, Bina, 34

181 Ghosh, Bula, 34 Ghosh, Gautam, 138 Ghosh, Girish Chandra, 14, 23, 93, 120 Ghosh, Nimai, 126 Ghosh, Rabi, xxi, 12, 104, 121 Ghosh, Rituparno, 158 Ghosh, Surajit, xviii, 126n29 Ghum Nei, 159–161, 165 Gorky, xix, 14 Greek, 28, 71 Guerilla, 15, 40–41, 82, 101–102, 110, 166 Guha, Indranath, 153–154 Guha, Mani, xix Guha, Nirmal, 42 Guha, Satikanta, 154 Guharay, Nirmal, 15, 17 Gunawardana, A.J., xin7 Guptas, The, ix, 85

H Hamlet O Janapriyata, 122 Hatch, James, xi, 44n33 Hegel, 2, 153 Hindu(s), 20, 31, 45, 64–65, 85, 88, 104, 108 Hitler, Adolf, 55, 105–107, 139, 148 Holocaust, 28 humour, 10, 105, 108, 121, 127, 135, 139–140, 144, 152, 163–164 Hungary, 157

I Ibsen, 7, 12 ideinost, 30 ideology, xxii, 2, 7–8, 10, 13, 16, 22–23, 29–33, 36, 42, 58, 63, 136, 151, 153, 156, 163 Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), xii–xiii, 2, 7–9, 13, 18–19, 27, 31, 36, 119, 127, 152–154, 170 Indian theatre, ix–x, xxv, 2, 8, 26, 54, 69, 117, 149, 159 Indigo rebellion, 35, 81 Indo-Pak war, 47 innovation in theatre, 27–28, 31–32, 133 In Search of Theatre, 22 International Labor Defence, 80, 135 Ionesco, 28

J Jalianwalabagh, ix, 20, 30, 39, 49, 85, 166

182 Jalianwalabagh massacre, ix, 39, 49, 50 Janasevak, xvi Janatar Aphim, ix, xv, 22, 63–66, 162n25, 169 Jatra, ix–xii, xiv, xvi, xxi–xxiv, 12–13, 19–20, 25–39, 46–47, 49, 54, 61, 81, 85, 89, 98, 103–108, 117–123, 127–128 Jhar, xvii, 35, 103–104 Joy Bangla, 20, 167

K Kacher Ghar, 11, 169 Kala Mandir, 20–21, 53, 105, 142, 167–168 Kallol, ix, xiv, xvi, xx, 16, 18, 35, 61, 73–79, 90, 112, 115, 124, 126, 133–134, 166 Kalo Hat, 11, 168 Kant, 2, 153 Kellet, Brian, 6 Kendal, Felicity, 6, 129 Kendal, Geoffrey, xxiii, 3, 6–7, 13, 24, 129 Kendal, Jennifer, 6 King, Martin Luther, 80 Kiratparva, xxiii, 22, 170 Krishnath College School, 1 Krishti Sansad, 159 Krusvidhha Cuba, ix, 21, 167 Kusputtalika, 22

L Lahiri, Indra, 34 Lal, Ananda, 54n40, 61n51, 66n62, 127n31, 138n53, 160n20, 162 Lal, P., 4–5, 26n74 Laldurga, 22, 169 Lauhamanab, 11, 166 Left, 16, 18, 30, 38, 42, 44, 47, 51, 61, 157 Lenin, ix, xiv, xix, 2, 21, 35, 51–52, 122, 153, 157 Leniner Dak, ix, xiv, xix, 18, 50–52, 122, 156, 167 Lenin Kothay?, ix, 21, 52, 167 Lesser, R.H., 5n17 Liddell, Laura, 6 lights, xxi, xxiv, 118, 120, 125, 130, 133 Little Theatre Group (LTG), xii, xvi, xxi, xxiv, 3, 7, 9, 12–20, 90, 119, 130, 132, 134, 153, 163, 165–167 Lohar Bhim, 21, 170 Loknatya, 20, 98, 103, 167–168

Index M Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards, 161 Mahavidroha, ix, xiii, 21, 30, 57–60, 169 Majumdar, Charu, 17 Majumdar, Samir, xxi, 126n29, 134, 138, 141 Majumdar, Siuli, 7, 12 Majumdar, Tarun, 21 Mallabarman, Advaita, 15 Maloparar Ma, 11, 168 Manusher Adhikare, ix, xx, xxiii, 18, 20, 79–81, 90, 132, 134–135, 146, 155, 158, 166 Marx, Karl, 2, 55–56, 63, 71, 153, 171n1 Marxist, xxiii–xxv, 5–6, 13, 19, 22–28, 32–36, 39, 43–44, 48, 51n37, 56–63, 69, 71, 122, 138, 151–153, 156–157 Marxism, xxii, 63, 67, 151–152, 156 Marxist consciousness, xiv, 2, 4, 46, 48, 62, 65–66 Marxist theatre, ix–x, 57, 70, 119–121, 128 melodramatic, 19, 34, 118, 123, 126 Merchant and Ivory, 17–18 Metatheatrical, 147–149, 164 Method acting, 69–70 middle class, xi, xiv, 90, 92 Minerva Theatre, xxiv, 14–18, 21, 39–51, 73, 79, 90, 130, 134, 152–154, 165–170 Mitra, Dinabandhu, 29, 82, 97, 119, 148, 157 Mitra, Saibal, xviii, 2n2 Mitra, Sombhu, 8, 23, 129 modern drama, 69, 129 Mookerjee, Romen, 5 Morality play, 33 motion-master, 124 Mrityur Atit, 38, 166 Mukherjee, Sushil Kumar, 2n3, 12n39, 14n44, 20n59 Mukhopadhyay, Arun, xxi Mukhopadhyay, Arup, xxii, 1n1, 5n13, 7n20, 14n44, 18n50, 21n61, 123n19 Mukhopadhyay, Asok, xvi–xvii, 21, 170 Mukhopadhyay, Balaichand (Banaphul), 14 Mukhopadhyay, Debabrata, 5n17 Mukhopadhyay, Somnath, 157, 169 Muktidiksh¯a, ix, xiv, 35, 61–62, 157, 159, 168 music, xxi, 6, 18, 118, 125–127, 129–130, 153 Muslim(s), 65–66, 82, 109–110

Index N Nadkarni, Dnyaneshwar, xi Nag, Samar, xvi, 129n34 Nandiranga, 157, 169 narodnost, 30 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, 135 National School of Drama, 157 N¯atya Prasanga, 57 Naval Rebellion, ix, 73 Naxalbari, 16–17, 42–43, 47 Naxalite, xiii, 16, 18, 38, 58 Naxalite movement, xiii–xiv, 11, 17, 44, 53, 154–155 Nazi, 16, 55, 57, 138–141 Nazism, ix, 54 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 125, 160 New Arya Opera, 19, 166 Nilrakta, ix, 20, 35, 81–82, 167 Nil Sada Lal, ix, xv, 22, 146–147, 169 O O’Dwyer, Sir Michael, 50 Odets, Clifford, 7 P Padma Vibhushan, 25 Pal, Panu, 7, 11 Palodhi, Saurabh, 159–160 Paris Commune, ix, 35, 61–62 partiinost, 30 Partition, ix, 10, 160 Paschim Banga Natya Akademi, 4 Patel, Sardar, 74, 160 peasants, 17, 19, 33–43, 48–49, 60, 62, 72, 81, 119, 128 People’s Little Theatre (PLT), xi, xxiv, 19–22, 57, 60, 85, 146, 161, 163, 167–170 people’s theatre, 9, 27 performance, 10, 19, 32, 39, 56, 71–74, 85, 106–107, 124–131 Permanent Settlement, 90 Petersen, Jan, 20, 53 petty-bourgeois, xix, 73, 118 Pherari Phauj, 15, 165 Pinter, 28 Pirandello, 113 Piscator, Erwin, 28–29, 118n3 plot, xii, 19, 30, 37, 56, 62, 71, 103, 121, 125, 133, 146 Poland, 157

183 politics, xii, xviii–xix, xxiv, 28–39, 47–54, 98, 106–108, 120–123, 151, 156, 159 political agitation, 10, 15, 33, 37 political theatre, xiii, xxiv, 9, 17–18, 27–34, 39, 43–44, 47, 49–52, 70, 72–73, 79, 81, 96, 109, 116, 120, 122, 129, 134, 142–146, 155–157 Poonavala, E.M., 3–4 popular, xi, xx, 19, 26, 31–32, 121, 152, 157 Prasadujot, 16–17 proletarian hero, 73, 81, 84 proletarian leader, 83 proletarian theatre, 29 proletarian/proletariat, 3, 31, 37, 49, 52, 61–62, 78, 90, 106, 116 propaganda, 11, 26, 29, 36–47, 55–56, 104, 112, 147, 152, 159, 164 propagandist, xvii, xix, xxv, 25–26, 149, 151, 155–156, 160, 164 proscenium, ix, xii, xxii–xxiii, 10, 13, 19–20, 30, 33–36, 39, 85, 117–118, 120, 127–128, 152 psychological realism, xxiv, 69 Q Qing, Jiang, 39 R Rabindra Sadan, 20–22, 57, 85, 90, 109, 146, 167–170 Raha, Kironmoy, xi, 119n7 racism, 80–81, 135 Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, 160 Rater Atithi, 18, 166 Ravi Shankar, 15, 130–131 Ray, Jayanta, xx, 12n38 Ray, Satyajit, 25 Ray, Siddhartha Sankar, 21, 53, 142 Ray, Tilak, 17 Raychaudhuri, Saubhik, xix, xxn29, 112n59, 115n65 rehearsals, xvi, 6, 8, 12, 72, 106, 108, 128–129 reactionary, 61–62, 153 religion, 31, 45–46, 52–53, 63–66, 82, 88, 109–110, 161–162 revolution, xi, xvii, 7–9, 27–28, 35–36, 45, 62, 73, 118, 120, 146–147, 160 revolutionary theatre, ix, xi, xiii, xv, xxiv, 31, 36, 39, 70, 122, 128 revolutionary truth, 28, 35, 67

184 Rifle, 19–20, 166 Roy, Pratap, 7 Roy, Raja Rammohun, xvii, 21, 35, 103–104 Roy, Tarun, 5 ruling class, 11, 18, 22, 28–38, 44–48, 57, 62, 109, 120–121 Russell, Bertrand, 5, 153 Russia, 51

S Samajtantrik Chal, 11, 37, 47, 166 Samudrasashan, 20, 85, 167 Sangramer Arekdik, xvi, 16, 79 Saint Xavier’s Magazine, 3–5, 153 Sadhukhan, Gautam, 34 Sangeet Natak Akademi, xvi, 15, 25 Sans Souci Players, 2 Sanyasi rebellion, ix, 35, 98 Sany¯asir Tarabari, xiv, 98–102, 111, 136, 167 Sarkar, Pabitra, xix Sarkar, Sumit, xvii Satyambar Opera, 20, 49, 85, 166 scenography, 39, 120, 125–126, 134 Scottsboro trial, 79, 135 Sen, Debiprasad, 13 Sen, Dipak, xvi Sen, Jay, xvi Sen, Kausik, 159–160, 170 Sen, Mrinal, 21, 25, 142 Sen, Niranjan, 7–8 Sen, Sova, xxi–xxii, 4n9, 8n26, 12–17, 23n63, 25n72, 54n42, 104, 129, 164 Sen, Tapas, xi, xxi, 13, 15–17, 42, 79, 125, 131–133 Sengupta, Jyotindranath, 12 Sengupta, Sangramjit, 159 sets, xvi, xxi, 18, 116–128, 133, 147 Shakespeare, 1–5, 13, 92, 153 Shakespeareana, 3, 6–7, 18, 156 Shaw, George Bernard, 7, 97 Shaw, Irwin, 38 Shri Ram Centre Repertory, 159 Shohan, 158–159 Sim¯anta, 35, 158 Simonov, Konstantin, 12 Sinha Ray, Subhabrata, 158 Sino-Indian war, 18, 44, 47, 154 Sircar, Badal, 23, 163 slapstick comedy, 25, 127, 160 socialist, xviii, 4, 30, 50, 61, 152

Index socialist rebellion, 8, 40–49, 52, 72, 109, 116 South Point School, 14, 153–154 Soviet socialist realism, xxiv, 30, 39 Son Re Malik, 20, 30, 47–48, 167 Special Train, 11, 15, 166 spectacular effects, xiv, xvi, 15, 33, 125–134 St. Edmund’s School, 1 St. Lawrence High School, 1–2 St. Xavier’s College, xxiii, 2, 4–6, 153 St. Xavier’s Collegiate School, 2 stage, ix–xi, xvi–xviii, 117–131, 133–138, 143–149 stagecraft, xxiv, 18, 116, 118, 120, 133 stage business, 70–72, 126–129, 140 stage décor, xxiv Stalin, ix, xix, 8, 35, 122, 152, 157 Stalin: 1934, ix, xix, 21, 168 Stanislavski, xxiv, 3, 69–70 Star Theatre, 21, 61, 142, 167–168 Statesman, The, xin6, 16, 44n33, 79, 158n10 street theatre, ix, xxii–xxiv, 9–13, 37 style, x–xiii, xviii, xxiv, 7, 12–13, 27, 34, 117–130, 138, 149, 152, 156, 163 sound, xi, xxiv, 71, 120, 126, 161 Sudra, 31, 45–46, 85–89 Suryasikar, ix, xiv–xv, 35, 85–90, 101, 167 Swapnasandhani, 159–160, 170 synthesis, 123

T Tagore, 7, 12–14, 31, 106, 124–125, 152 Thakurpukur Ichhemoto, 159–160 Theatre, Politics and Ideology, 30 Theatre Formation Paribartak, 161 Theatre Workshop, 21, 168, 170 Theatre-er Sandhane, 138 thesis, 123 Thikana, 20, 136–137, 167 technique, ix, xv–xviii, 7, 10, 16, 19, 32–33, 118–120, 123–127, 130–133, 137, 149, 156 Telegraph, The, 61n51, 66n62, 127n31 Thealovers, 158 Tiner Taloyar, ix, xi–xv, xx–xxiii, 20, 90–98, 120, 136, 147–159, 167 tipichnost, 30 Tir, xiv, 17–20, 41–50, 67, 155, 166 Titumir, xvi, 21, 35, 109–112, 161, 168 Tota, 20–21, 58, 167

Index Towards A Revolutionary Theatre, xv, 17n52, 36n18, 43n32, 105n50, 121n12, 135n49, 152n2 trapdoor, 118 Trotsky, 8, 152 Tse-tung, Mao, 39, 42 U ultra-left, 16, 18, 38, 42–47 United Front, 11, 17, 41–42, 50 University Institute Hall, 12, 21, 112, 161, 168–169 USSR (Soviet Union), ix, xix, xxiv, 21–22, 35, 39, 74, 154, 157 V vaudeville, 127 Vedas, 31, 64, 88 Verfremdungseffekt, 123 Vernant, Jean-Pierre, 69 Vidyavinod, Phanibhushan, 34

185 Vietnam, 35, 39–40 VIP, 15, 166 Vivek Natya Samaj, xxiv, 19–20, 167 voice modulation, 6–7, 19, 129

W Wahabi, 108 Warsaw Pact, 157 western theatre, 25, 39, 126 What Is To Be Done?, xv, 28n2, 32n13, 34n15, 39n24, 60n50, 73n10, 79n19, 118n4, 129n38 working class, xi, xviii, 1, 7, 10, 18–19, 30, 34–37, 44, 49, 55–61, 65, 72, 90–91, 119, 121–127, 146, 149, 152

Y Yan’an Talks, 39 Young Bengal, 96, 103 Yuddhang Dehi, 18, 44–47, 57, 65, 152, 166