Hindustan Times (Bathinda)

Xmarks theplot

- Natasha Rego natasha.rego@htlive.com

New treasure-hunters are chasing down stories that haven’t been told in centuries, reviving traditions pushed into the background during colonial rule. As the curtain goes up again, there are signs of a happier ending. See how these narrators are using ancient formats to merge storytelli­ng and science, promote healing and therapy, uncover legends that lived on in art and architectu­re...

A mid lush mountains, fed by rich rivers, there was once a region of great prosperity, and relative peace. Then came invaders from elsewhere who wanted the region’s riches. Bit by bit, then chunk by chunk, they claimed them. They were heroes in their own tale. So, for a time, they became heroes in this one too. And who doesn’t want to be a hero? The foreigners eventually left. They’d suffered crushing defeats and agreed it was time. But, as their ships drew away, the region they left wasn’t the region it had been. That is the story of colonialis­m around the world. And it is the tale of how India, along with precious metals and materials, lost many of its stories. The tales, though thousands of years old, had lived on in their people. Most had never been written down. They’d been painted; carved into stone and wood; but a story must be told, in order to survive. Without the retelling, it fades. Over centuries, once-rich stories faded, in all corners of the land. And so it was that when the region found prosperity again, the people looked around in confusion. They had new metals and materials. But they knew there had been more. This is how Sharat Prabhath might tell the story of India’s missing tales. It’s how his grandfathe­r and greatgrand­father might have. He comes from an ancient line of storytelle­rs. Now, he’s telling stories again. His tales are populated with gods and goddesses, heroes, mythical creatures and magical worlds, but also celebrity bad boys and current affairs. He performs his harikatha (a form of traditiona­l discourse mostly seen in peninsular India) in his mother tongue of Kannada, as well as in English and Hindi. As his ancestors did, he uses song and dance, humour, satire, even everyday events, to keep the narrative alive. “For a long time, our traditiona­l arts and crafts were looked down upon. Our practices were called primitive,” says Prabhath, 32. But our tales matter, he adds, because “time and space are abstract; stories add meaning to them.” In a world that has returned to storytelli­ng as a means of improving communicat­ion skills and confidence, self-expression and education, brand-building even, Indian oral storytelle­rs are venturing into hitherto unexplored areas. They’re using the formats and legends of their roots, but adapting these for the 21st century, adding contempora­ry twists and perspectiv­es; they are merging storytelli­ng and science; they are using stories for group therapy; and they’re uncovering legends largely forgotten that have lived on in art and architectu­re. In Bengaluru, Aparna Jaishankar, 44, is drawing on ancient paintings, temple art and academic research to offer new perspectiv­es on tales from the Mahabharat­a. The ticketed events she helms draw people aged 19 to 90. In Chennai, Deepa Kiran, 45, currently pursuing a PHD in storytelli­ng and language, is trying to bridge the gap between the sciences and humanities using storytelli­ng devices (rocks that talk; tales about the history of the sciences in India). “In our oral storytelli­ng traditions, it was adults who would listen to the stories. In the same vein, we would like to bring adults into the world of stories,” says Meghana Bommatanah­alli, 47, of the Hyderabad Storytelle­rs Associatio­n, which holds story circles in which participan­ts swap tales around a predetermi­ned theme. And amid the trauma of the pandemic, in 2020, five storytelle­rs set up the Indian Storytelle­rs Healing Network (ISHN), to promote the sharing of stories as a means of healing. The sessions are still held online, the core group of five storytelle­rs themselves scattered across the country. An ISHN storytelle­r begins with a tale, then those in the audience share their reflection­s and accounts. “The telling of one’s own story lightens a load,” says ISHN member Sowmya Srinivasan, a psychologi­st. “Listening to another’s tale promotes empathy and compassion. Stories are how people feel less alone.” Take a look, then, at some of India’s contempora­ry oral storytelle­rs, the traditions they’re carrying forward, and the new ones they are crafting.

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