| |
Devadasi (by Kasturi Sreenivasan)
Chapter Listing
CHAPTER I
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVERS
(1877)
It was dusk. The inner courtyard of the temple which was intended
for the more important and higher caste people was still empty,but
the outer spacewas alreadygettingcrowded. The priests, their stomachs
hanging over their dhoties and their brown bodies glistening with
perspiration, were busy running here and there, shouting orders to the
garland makers, giving instructions with regard to decorations, asking
for lanterns to be lit and warning the lower caste people to keep away
from them lest they polluted the priests of God. The smell of burning
incense and camphor mingled with the stale smell of oil and the fresh
aroma of flowers and banana leaves.
The decorations at the temple were almost complete. It had been newly
whitewashed and the compound wall painted in stripes of white and red.
Coconut leaves, woven into mats, were bound round pillars to cover them.
At the entrance, banana trees had been tied to form a welcoming arch,
with the green bunch hanging from them. Mango leaves, strung together,
hung across every door way. ' Garuda Vahana ', the flying eagle, transport
of Vishnu the creator, had been brought out of its storage and was being
cleaned up and decorated, to be ready for the procession at night. The
divine eagle would be used later in the night to carry the bronze image of
Lord Ranganatha, the presiding deity at the temple, along the main streets
of the town. It was the birthday celebration of Sri Krishna Jayanthi,
an important occasion in a Vaishnavite temple.
Outside the temple, the petty vendors along the dusty street were doing a
brisk trade by the light of smokey oil lamps. One could buy coconuts and
bananas, betel and scented sticks and camphor for worship. But one could
also buy little mirrors and combs, coloured ribbons for girls' hair, white
sticks and red tablets for painting religious marks on the forehead, and
flowers and sandalwood paste. There were also little baskets for girls
and rattles for boys, all made out of dried coconut leaves. There was much
bustle and confusion as people bargained and argued, and children cried with
fatigue and hunger. Beggars crying for alms and sadhus intoning their
hymns mingled with the noise of conches and gongs in the distance. The
dust and noise of the street mingled with the smells and sounds of the
temple to create the peculiar atmosphere of a Hindu religious festival.
Though Palayam was only a small town, one of its eating places started
serving a new drink called coffee. It had been introduced by the British
rulers and there were many stories about it. Some argued that, since it
was of European origin, it must necessarily be unclean; others said it
might be alcoholic. In any case, very few tried it, since a tumbler full
cost as much as half an anna, while butter-milk was served free in many
places and coconut water including the tender coconut meat was only a
paisa. Only the most daring or the wealthy could afford the exotic brew.
There was animated conversation about this and about various other things
among the men who were slowly gathering in the temple courtyard. They talked
about a new thing called a railway which had just been extended to the town
from Madras recently. They called it a monster of iron, since it was so
huge that only a monster could pull it. Queen Victoria had been proclaimed
' Empress of Tndia' a few weeks ago, and it was said that that benign
lady was going to usher in a golden age of peace and prosperity. In order
to celebrate the great occasion, horse races and bullock cart races had
been held in every town, and a few Indians had been allowed to ride along
with the Europeans, for the first time in living memory. Most of them had
watched the races that afternoon and now there was animated discussion about
the finer points of the various races. With these momentous changes taking
place in their environment, even the price of crops and the state of the
monsoon seemed unimportant. ' The old days are gone for ever,' they said.
' Things will never be the same again.'
But the topic of immediate interest this evening was the new dancer
who was going to dance at the temple before
the start of the procession. No one had seen her dance before; it was her
first performance. After a rigorous course of training for ten years, she
was about to become a ' deva daasi', a servant of God. She was going to be
dedicated to the temple and she would spend the rest of her life dancing
at the temple, providing pleasure as well as a sense of Godliness to the
devotees who came to worship. She was reported to be extraordinarily
beautiful, talented, and only sixteen years of age. There was eager
anticipation as the courtyard began to fill with men. As time went on, they
began to ask each other, ' When is she coming ? ' ' How long are we to
wait ? ' But they were used to waiting; time did not mean very much when
once the crops were in and the sowing season had not yet started. They had
very little to do, and so they chatted about their times and events
contentedly.
First, the musicians came and sat down in a corner of the
inner courtyard. As they began to tune their instruments, there was a
general thrust forward by the crowd and a craning of necks to see what was
happening. The priests shouted at people to stay where they were. Presently
a side door opened and a young girl in the costume of a Bharata Natyam dancer
walked in, with downcast eyes. She was escorted by her mother. The noise in
the crowd increased as people at the back started shouting to the people in
front to sit down so that they could get a better glimpse of the dancer. She
walked to the sanctum of the temple and waited with folded hands while a priest
inside started the puja. Mantras were recited, the bell was rung, the camphor
was lit and offered to the deity. The priest came out with the plate with the
burning camphor still blazing and offered it to the girl. She knelt in
obeisance; she bowed low till her forehead touched the ground. When she rose,
she touched the burning camphor with her fingers and then raised her hands
in prayer. She took some ashes from the plate and applied it to her forehead.
Next, she walked over to her guru, the dance teacher who had trained her
since she was a child. To him also, it was a day of fulfilment. She bowed
low and touched his feet, and was blessed by him. It was a momentous occasion
for her; it was the consummation of her desires, the fulfilment of her
dreams. May be she would be a great dancer, coveted in the courts of kings,
and thousands would flock to see her. Or, she would remain a temple dancer,
making a precarious living, and then thrown on the scrapheap of humanity
after a time. Yes, that day would largely decide the issue.
As she took her position in the centre of the forecourt of the temple
and as the musicians began their first song, a silence fell over the
crowd. The first dance began.It was an invocation to Ganapathi,
the elephant God, who had to be propitiated first if the occasion
was to be a success. People watched her with curious,
critical eyes, watched her face and figure and noted her expressions and
her movements. As the preliminary dance ended, a young man walked into the
inner courtyard and sat in the front row. He was tall, with dark, piercing
eyes, and distinguished looking. His thick, long hair was neatly tied into
a bun at the back of his head, according to the fashion of the time, his
mustache was neatly trimmed. The red, gold laced upper cloth he wore did
little to hide the firm muscles of his body, and his brown skin shone in
the mellow light of the oil lamps. There was a rustle among the crowd as
people tried to see who he was and then, he was recognised as the young
winner of the main event in the horse races held by the British rulers that
afternoon. He had received a big silver cup from the European Collector who
had complimented him as being an example of what was best in the native
population. ' It is Ramaswamy Udayar of Achipatti village,' someone whispered.
' Even the white people admired the way he rode.' ' Nevertheless, he should
have more respect for the elders,' another commented. ' He should not push
past everyone and sit at the front.'
Meanwhile, the second dance had started. The rustle in the audience
died down and they watched the dancer intently as she went through
the various motions of joy, sorrow, jealousy, anger, ecstacy and love.
Her face glowed in the soft light of the oil lamps; her hands coiled
and uncoiled in the supple movements of a cobra, but her feet had
the precision and timing of a soldier on parade. Her beautiful figure
was poetry in motion and her face was a kaleidoscope of expressions as she
acted out one story after another from the rich repertoire of Hindu mythology.
It was not only the technical perfection of her art, but the inner
excitement, her love of God and her love of dancing, the combination of
religion and emotion that flowed through every movement that made her dancing
what it was. ' She is truly great; a dancer like this is seen only once
in a century.' ' Let us hope she doesn't become the concubine of some zamindar
and neglect her dancing.' ' Whether a zamindar get's her or not, the priests
will not leave her alone.' ' With her face and figure and her dancing, she
will earn a fortune if she is clever.'
' What is her name ? ' Ramaswamy Udayar asked someone sitting next to
him. ' Her name is Meenakshi; she is the daughter of Muthulakhsmi
who used to be a dancer at this temple a few years ago.' The
dancing went on and on. The mother stayed in the background and
made a note of all the important people who were present. There was no way
in which a professional dancer could make money through her art. There were
no public performances where people paid to watch the dancing. The few
occasions when she might be cal]ed upon to dance at a wedding were not
enough to enable her to make a decent living. Further, a dancer was married
to God, dedicated to the temple, and often at the mercy of the temple
priests. The only way in which she could thrive and make a fortune was to
have a powerful patron or patrons who would pay her well and look after her
interests at the same time. Watching the people in the audience and watching
her daughter's dancing, Muthu smiled with satisfaction,for sheknewthather
daughter's fortune was made. Ramaswamy Udayar got up and walked out before
the end of the dance.
Outside the temple, he called his personal assistant
and cart driver Ganapathi. ' Ganapathi, I want you to find out where this
dancer lives and let me know in the morning. I am going to bed now.'
' All right sir' replied Ganapathi.
[.. to be continued]
|
|
|
|
|
