It’s the letters that linger in the memory
Lions and Tigers
In 1930, three young Indian men arrived at the Writers’ Building in Kolkata, West Bengal, opened fire and killed a British officer. They were frustrated by the movement of non-violent civil disobedience, championed by Gandhi; the fight for Indian independence (eventually achieved in 1947) would, they reasoned, have to be a bloody one.
One of these men, Dinesh Gupta (Shubham Saraf), was the great uncle of playwright Tanika Gupta. Her intriguing, if ponderous, new play explores his motivations and revisits some of the letters Dinesh, who was later commemorated with a statue in Kolkata, sent to his family from jail before his execution in 1931.
These beautifully written documents, initially bursting with hope and fiery conviction, grow steadily more reflective as Dinesh approaches his day of reckoning. “Death has come to me as a friend,” reads the final letter from Dinesh to his mother.
I longed to hear more of these letters, which give such a thrilling insight into the mind of a young revolutionary (or, as the British saw it, a terrorist). They humanise a violent period of history, while exposing the cruel aftershocks of martyrdom on family and friends. Far and away the most powerful moments of this production are when Dinesh, alone on a sparse, claustrophobic stage, reads them aloud.
Alas, Gupta has been too ambitious. Lions and Tigers endeavours not only to flesh out the domestic lives of these men, and to dramatise the day of the assassination, but also to present an exhaustive discussion about civil disobedience and violent insurrection. Aside from the odd powerful scene, too much of the play is taken up with lengthy, thematic political debates. These are commendably even-handed, and doubtless serve well as a history lesson, but they lack urgency and can feel rather stiff.
Much more sustaining are the performances of a fine cast. As Dinesh, Saraf captures that zesty enthusiasm and naive arrogance of youth. His fury at British rule is nicely offset by a gentle demeanour and paternal instinct. And Keeble, playing a number of stuffy British roles, including Chief Commissioner of Police and Viceroy of India, hides a streak of brutality behind a starchy, pompous facade. Welcome moments of levity are also provided by Adam Best as a benevolent prison guard.
But it is those letters of Dinesh’s – full of love, humour and anger – that stay with you. They record the thoughts of a young man who was determined to leave his mark on Indian history. To hear them at all makes a trip to Lions and Tigers thoroughly worthwhile, but it is a shame that they are never quite given the prominence here that they deserve.