Mahashweta Read online

  Anupama’s attention was immediately diverted from the serious conversation they had been having. ‘Vasant, why don’t you wear a sweater?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t have one,’ he replied, ‘I have no one to knit sweaters for me, and I’ve never remembered to buy one for myself. So I have reconciled myself to catching a cold every winter.’ Vasant smiled and then took leave of her.

  Anand was in Bombay to attend an international medical conference at one of the five-star hotels in Nariman Point.

  After the day’s session was over, he paused in front of the Oberoi Hotel to gaze at the sea. Of late, he had found himself sinking into a state of chronic unhappiness. Feelings of shame and guilt always gnawed at him, and left him feeling helpless. I did not do the right thing because I was immature, he sometimes tried to console himself.

  As he stood looking at the sea, someone tapped his shoulder from behind.

  It was his friend Dr Prakash Apte. Prakash had been with him in England and had now settled down in Bombay where he and his wife, Nirmala, owned a nursing home.

  ‘Hi Anand, I never expected to meet you here! Where are you staying?’

  Anand was happy to see Prakash. ‘I am staying right here in the Oberoi. How have you been?’

  ‘I will tell you if you come home and join us for dinner.’ Anand laughed and agreed.

  Anand and Prakash were soon immersed in conversation. The latest innovations in surgery, seminars, their contemporaries—Prakash was voluble about them all, and Anand was unable to cut short the conversation although he wanted to get back to his room and rest.

  ‘Hey Anand, there is a Sanskrit play at the Tata Theatre this evening. Let’s go,’ insisted Prakash.

  The thought of going for a play scared Anand. It had been several years since he had last watched a play. Even when he visited England, he no longer went to any of the Shakespearean plays that he had once loved. Anything connected with theatre had become taboo for him. Plays inevitably brought back the memories of Anupama, his marriage, her disease, the betrayal and their separation.

  Unaware of Anand’s inner turmoil, Prakash insisted, ‘Anand, let’s go.’

  ‘You say the play is in Sanskrit. . .’

  ‘But the commentary will be in English. It is being put up by college students and we must encourage them. Even the German delegates are planning to watch the play. We, as Indians, ought to go, too. The Tata Theatre is as good as any in England.’

  Anand did not have any option but to go with Prakash.

  The auditorium was already packed with people. The murmurs of conversation slowly faded as a voice from behind the curtain started speaking, ‘Dear friends, today we are here to enact one of the best plays written by the famous dramatist Bhasa, Swapna Vasavadutta.’

  The years melted away as Anand remembered another such voice: Dear friends, today we are here to perform the play, Mahashweta. The theme has been taken from the novel Kadambari, written by Bana Bhatta.

  Anand began feeling restless and disturbed. He wished the voice would stop; but the commentary continued. . .

  ‘Bhasa was one of the renowned poets of his time. He was called the Smile of goddess Saraswathi. It is said that all his plays were thrown into the fire but Swapna Vasavadutta was not burnt because it was as pure as gold. . .’

  Anand couldn’t concentrate on the commentary. Was it really Anupama’s voice or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

  Prakash said, ‘Did you hear that? How beautifully she is explaining everything! I told you. . .’

  ‘Who is the lady giving the commentary?’

  ‘She is a Sanskrit lecturer from a college in Vile Parle. Every year she directs plays and gets the first prize. And the great thing is that only her students act in the plays, not professionals.’

  ‘What is her name?’ Anand’s voice trembled in anticipation.

  ‘I think she’s called Anuradha. My cousin is her student. It seems that young artistes are always looking for a chance to act in her plays. It is as good as getting a break in Bollywood, they say!’ laughed Prakash.

  The explanation continued in a mellifuous, well-modulated voice. ‘The handsome Udayana is the prince of the prosperous Vathsa Desha. He has an exemplary student, Princess Vasavadutta. She is an extremely beautiful, intelligent and good-natured girl. They fall in love and get married. For the good of the kingdom, Udayana is told that he must marry the Magadha princess, Padmavati; but he refuses. But, for the betterment of her husband and his kingdom, Vasavadutta spreads a rumour that she has died in a forest fire. Reluctantly, Udayana agrees to marry Padmavati. Vasavadutta visits him when he is asleep to console him, and helps him to accept his second marriage. Hence, the play is called Swapna Vasavadutta.

  ‘In any community, land or race, a woman always wants her husband to love only her. Vasavadutta was very fortunate to have a husband who was completely devoted to her. In those days, a king could marry any number of women, but Udayana did not wish to do that.

  ‘The exact period when Bhasa wrote his plays is not known, but historians claim that he comes before Kalidasa and after Ashwagosha.’

  Prakash said, ‘Look at the depth of her knowledge. After watching the play, you will realize what an excellent director she is.’

  Anand was not bothered about the play; he only wanted to see its director, and waited impatiently for the play to begin.

  Throughout the play Prakash kept up his running commentary, ‘Look at the sets, costumes and actresses. Don’t they look extraordinary?’

  There was thunderous applause once the play ended. The students came on the stage and bowed to the audience. At the very end came the lady who was responsible for the success of the play, and everyone gave her a standing ovation.

  In a daze, Anand watched Anupama walk onto the stage as she had many years ago. Then she had been the heroine of Mahashweta. This time, she was on stage as a real ‘Mahashweta’. Her face shone with the same confidence, the same dignity and the same love for theatre.

  When Anand came out with his friend, Prakash immediately sensed that Anand was not his usual self. ‘Are you not well? Come home and rest.’

  ‘Thanks, Prakash, but I’d rather go back to my room. I have a severe headache.’

  ‘Didn’t you like the play? One rarely gets to see Sanskrit drama nowadays. That’s why I insisted on bringing you with me. I’m sorry if you didn’t enjoy it. But don’t you think Anuradha is a great director?’

  ‘Thank you for taking me to the play, Prakash. By the way, the director is not Anuradha. She is Anupama.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not good at remembering names. Besides, Anuradha or Anupama, there isn’t much of a difference anyway.’

  For Anand it was a world of difference. He declined Prakash’s invitation to dinner. His mind was a riot of conflicting emotions. As soon as Prakash left, he hurried backstage. The attendants were closing up after cleaning the stage. It was already late. ‘Could you give me the address of Anupama?’ Anand asked the supervisor.

  ‘Which Anupama?’

  ‘The lady who directed the play today.’

  ‘They have all left.’

  ‘Could you at least you give me her telephone number?’

  The supervisor looked at him suspiciously. ‘Who are you? Why do you need her number?’

  ‘I am her relative.’

  ‘If you are her relative, then how come you don’t have her address?’

  Anand was unable to to come up with a satisfactory answer. But he looked so dejected that the supervisor felt sorry for him. ‘Come tomorrow morning at 11.30 and meet the manager and speak to him. Now, if I stay any longer I will miss my last local to Virar.’

  Anand came out of the theatre and stood gazing at the sea at Nariman Point. He felt a deep sense of grief and regret. A few hours’ delay in getting Anupama’s address had upset him so much. What had Anupama gone through when she had been struggling all alone without any money, support, or even a letter from him?

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