Kapila Venu presented Madurai Veeran’s story in Nangiarkoothu style
Stree Parvam by Mangai (far right) erhaps the most difficult question that we are forever left to grapple with,” begins veteran theatre artiste A. Mangai, thoughtfully pausing before continuing, “is how to end a war.” Mangai made this comment just before a preview of her new production, Stree Parvam, being presented in collaboration with the MS Swaminathan Research Foundation in memory of educationist Mina Swaminathan, who was passionate about theatre. The term ‘stree parvam’ is from the Mahabharata, the 11th of the 18 books on the epic, stree parva is about the grief of women over war and its losses.
Watching the rehearsal of Mangai’s 65minute production, a gripping and haunting portrayal, it became nearly impossible not to envision war as an large, chilling blanket spanning epochs and tightening around the neck of humanity. From the ancient battlefields of the
“PMahabharata to the modern conflicts in Gaza and Eelam, the spectre of war looms large. Yet, when the clamour of battle fades and the dust settles, what endures are the tears of women. These tears, heavy with unspoken grief, add a poignant layer to the fabric of human history.
“Stree Parvam is an attempt to look at war through a gendered lens,” says Mangai. The play opens with Gandhari and Kunti stepping onto the battlefield, where they confront the harrowing sight of countless bodies scattered around. As they search for their loved ones among the dead, they are struck by the overwhelming scale of loss and the transient nature of life.
“But this horror was not wrought by natural forces,” the chorus reminds Gandhari, unconvinced by her assertions that she had issued sufficient warnings. Instead, they recount the indiscriminate killings that stained the battlefield:
Aravan, Abhimanyu, Drona, Karna, and the infamous midnight massacre by Ashwathama. oodiyattam cannot alienate itself from Tamil or Tamizhagam, though it is a Sanskrit theatre tradition popular in Kerala. It is believed that while Chakyars, the traditional performers of this art form, belong to Tamil Nadu, stories from the State have never been used in Koodiyattam.
Viewed against this backdrop, Kapila Venu’s latest choreography in Nangiarkoothu (an offshoot of Koodiyattam performed only by women) – ‘Madurai Veeran Kathai’ –
KIn the play, when people drift into sleep at midnight, entering the realm between dreams and hope, they soon wake up to — a land of flowers and smiles, with the gentle flight of birds against the backdrop of a soft Arabic song. This tranquil vision is soon shattered by the realities of war — as the play transitions to the everyday massacre in Gaza.
The narrative then fluidly shifts among the
Mahabharata, Gaza, and Ukraine, often touching on Sri Lanka, to portray a gendered perspective on how dreams are killed and hopes massacred. As the two women is a pathbreaker. The oneandahalfhour performance was presented by Kapila at the recently revived Kottichetham auditorium of Natanakairali in Irinjalakkuda.
A warrior turned family deity
Madurai Veeran (warrior of Madurai) is a folk deity popular in Southern Tamil Nadu. The prefix to his name is because of his association with Madurai. He is venerated as the protector of the people of the city. There are also many folk songs, ballads and plays that describe his bravery.
Veeran was born into a royal
— Kunti and Gandhari — finally confess and acknowledge their guilt and grief, a ray of possibility illuminates their path. The chorus then performs the customary rituals, wishing for peace and harmony to prevail.
The play concludes with a haunting poem by Vallalar:
Karunai ila atchi kadugi ozhiga family but was abandoned. Subsequently, he was adopted by a couple from the Arunthathiyar community. Growing up among them, he eventually became a guard in the court of Bommanna Nayakan. His fame brought him to Madurai, where King Thirumalai Nayakar
Arul nayandha nanmarkkar alga
Nallor ninaitha nalam peruga
Ninaindhu ellorum vazhga isaindhu
(May the unkind rule come to an end. May the compassionate ones rule. May the good ones have their dreams fulfilled. May everyone think good and live in harmony).
Mangai describes the play as a “small gesture of solidarity with the people living in countries that are/have been under siege.” The play begins with
Gandhari and Kunti holding hands and finally embracing each other. For Mangai, this represents a form of feminist affective solidarity that recognises deepseated guilt and endeavours to forgive. “It may not be easy, but worth trying.”
In her work, Mangai employs various elements to dehumanise war. A central symbol is the omnipresent white cloth, representing
“life, earth, and the universe that we hold dear and are dutybound to protect for the next generation,” says Mangai. The music in the play transitions from the fervent beats of Koothu to a soft Arabic lullaby, and finally to a highenergy rap. Concurrently, a screen displays images of war from around the world, showcasing both the devastation and the resistance against it, emphasising the human cost, which has been reduced to mere numbers.
For the transition from the state of sleep to the realm of dreams, Mangai incorporated a threeminute film by Tara Hakim, a Palestinian artist residing in Jordan. Mangai says she specifically requested Tara’s film to be integrated at this pivotal moment. Upon viewing rehearsal footage, Tara selected a song to accompany her film, ensuring that the shift from the Mahabharata narrative to the dream sequence was not only conveyed visually but also through evocative music.
The play revisits the Mahabharata before moving to the war in Ukraine. The text for this segment was crafted by Yana Salakhova, a practitioner of Theatre of the Oppressed in Ukraine. This portion poignantly explores sought his assistance to protect the city from bandits.
During his stay in Madurai, Veeran sees the royal dancer Vellaiyammal and falls in love. Vellaiyammal too gets drawn to him due to his striking personality and proficiency in various arts.
One night, Veeran disguises himself and meets Vellaiyammal and the two plan to elope.
However, he gets accused of treason and is subjected to severe punishment and his limbs are amputated. Vellaiyammal, who witnesses this, decides to end her life. But by offering prayers to Madurai Meenakshi, Veeran recovers and gets back his limbs. But eventually Veeran, who believes it is god’s will that he must die, beheads himself. After this, Thirumalai Nayakar built a temple for Veeran, who is now worshipped by many communities in Tamil Nadu.
Unique technique
Kapila has choreographed her performance with an aim to highlight the major episodes that served to bring out her histrionic skills and techniques unique to Nangiarkoothu. Her netrabhinaya was praiseworthy.
The sequence where Veeran is accorded a heroic welcome in Madurai deserved special mention. Also, her enactment of playing the nagaswaram, thavil, parai and the pambai was impressive. The presence of two mizhavus and edakka added an edge to the performance.
Kapila, daughter of abhinaya exponent G. Venu, brought out the subtleties of each character. Her face was like a canvas of emotions. The charis (gaits), peculiar to Koodiyattam, were employed more in the fight sequences.
Through the usage of three couplets from Thirukural, which play a significant role in this thematic production, Tamil seems to have become a part of the Nangiarkoothu repertoire.
Kalamandalam Rajeev and Kalamandalam Hariharan played the mizhavu and Kalanilayam Unnikrishnan, the edakka.
is an attempt to look at war through a gendered lens
MANGAI
Kapila Venu’s recent performance lent a unique touch to the conventional Nangiarkoothu repertoire. It’s heartening to see dancers push the boundaries of their art for a wider reach
the experiences of motherhood amidst conflict. Salakhova’s words give voice to the complex emotions and dilemmas faced by mothers. “She called it the opening up of the space for the wounds to explode,” says Mangai recalling her interaction with Yana.
The play begins with images from Sri Lanka by feminist activist Sarala Emmaneul. Mangai juxtaposes these visuals with paintings by the renowned artist Trotsky Marudhu.
The theme of war runs deeply in Mangai’s body of work — Stree Parvam is not her first play around war.
But what truly resonates is the inclusion of poetry towards the end of the play. Along with the verses of Sri Lankan Tamil poets Nuhman and Puduvai Rathnadurai, the play features the profoundly moving poem ‘If I must die, let it be a tale,’ penned by Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer, who tragically lost his life in an Israeli airstrike last year.
Says Mangai, “There is an element of story in every poem — the stories must survive. It is our way of clinging to hope, even in the face of profound despair.”
The play will be staged at Asian College of Journalism on April 6 and 7.