drawma - zia mohyeddin

Zia Mohyeddin column

'Drawma'

Part I

Our dramatic heritage is scanty because we do not have a strong tradition of drama. It is understandable. Drama only sprouts in a society where the theatre becomes a part of the cultural milieu. This has not been the case.

There have only been two notable periods in the history of our language when drama came to the fore; the brief reign of Wajid Ali Shah (in the mid 19th century) when the lavish opera, 'Inder Sabha' was staged; and the last two decades of the 19th century when, a few enterprising Parsi impresarios in Bombay felt that melodrama (highly popular in England at the time) would be ideally suited to the temperament of our people. It was their astute sense of commerce that told them that Urdu, with its rhetorical flourish, and its vast repertoire of Masnavis, (which told tales of unrequited love) was the ideally suitable language for their theatrical venture. A number of Munshis were commissioned to adopt not only the popular East Lynne type of plays, but a few classical texts as well.

The impresarios were far-sighted. They knew that what the audience wanted was a spectacle. They concentrated on creating eye-catching effects; the scenery was lavish and so were the costumes. In their productions gods could descend from the heavens and sink, through trap doors, into the abyss. If Herbert Beerbohm Tree could have ducks and drakes and floating barges on the stage, so could they. The billboards announcing a new production specially emphasized that the company was equipped with 'New Scenery'.

The venture caught on. It was not just the plebeians who flocked to it; the nobs, too, loved it. They had their reserved rows in the front, where they were served with fruit and confectionery during the intervals. The groundlings sat or stood behind them. The play could last four hours, sometimes longer. It became known as the Mandwa.

In the earlier days young men (some not so young) played all the female roles. Indeed there were actors who specialised in playing a cheeky handmaiden or a noble queen and they continued to appear on the stage even after women had entered the arena. Master Nisar, it is written in some annals, was the comeliest 'heroine' of his era. In the world of the Parsi theatre the word 'master' was akin to an 'ingenue'.

The women who stepped in, belonged to the families of 'entertainers'. They had already learnt to sing and dance, but acting was a different thing altogether. The managers were careful; they did not pick just anyone who showed an inclination to join the company; they chose only those women who, they felt, had the skill to learn to speak the theatrical prose.

The task of grooming and polishing their speech was assigned to Munshis, who were on their payroll as playwrights. But the impresarios were human after all, and there were instances when a Behramjee or a Ferozjee cast his own 'pet' in the leading role. The Pia Zadoras have existed in every period.

Some Jewish ladies also became regular members of theatrical companies. A 'Miss Zenobia', whose ancestors hailed from Poland, became the leading lady of the Sohrabjee company. The theatre historians, Muhammad Umar and Nur Ilahi, speak eloquently of her histrionic abilities.

And what was the fare? A mish-mash, of course, but quite a characteristic theatrical form. It would not be inappropriate to say that the Parsi (Urdu) theatre became a unique theatrical form, which borrowed, freely, bits and pieces from operetta, melodrama, commedia dell'arte, and the old Sanskrit dance-drama.

The play (no matter whether historical, pastoral, tragedy, tragi-comedy) always began with a chorus, a homage to the Court, if the piece so dictated, or to the muses. This was the substitute for the opening hymn (in honour of Ganesh) that was an inherent part of Hindi dance-drama. In India the elephant-headed God, Ganesh, is considered to be the remover of obstacles, and is therefore invoked at the beginning of worship or a new enterprise.

The 19th century Urdu theatre was grandiose in language and content. It unfolded a plot in which the hero had to go through many tribulations and obstacles created by the wicked villain before he got his just desserts. The mischievous manservant and his accomplice (often the saucy maid), the chaste heroine, the faithful retainer and the reprobate uncle/guardian/treasurer were an integral feature of the Mise-en-scene. In between the rantings of noble characters, there was down-to-earth, low comedy conducted by the menials: the madcap manservant, the saucy maid, her admirers and the hangers on.

It is uncanny that so much of commedia dell'arte crept into the makings of the Urdu theatre. The comic action, performed by stock characters, the witty exchange between the high-born, the young couple's love being thwarted by their parents or guardians, were all essential ingredients of commedia dell'arte. Even the most popular character of the Italian comedy of art, the braggart, who boasted of his bravery and his exploits on the battlefield but ran away from the sign of any danger, became a part of our theatrical literature. The only difference was that they didn't wear masks as in commedia dell'arte.

Few plays of the periods (1880-1890) have survived. Even the playwrights (Talib, Betab etc.,) are now forgotten. The dramas they wrote overflowed with high-falutin prose, interspersed with passages of mediocre poetry. In due course some of this poetry was sung.

Ours was a musical theatre, but the plays were not staged like a musical. The songs were meant to highlight the tragic implications or to provide drollery in between tense situations.

I have,with me, a handwritten, leather-bound book with about a hundred and twenty songs from the theatre that flourished over a hundred years ago. Each song has the title of the play, the raga in which it was set and the rhythmic cycle that accompanies it. Only about half a dozen songs have the names of the composer. The words are written in my father's mature handwriting; each number has the annotation mark to indicate the starting point of the rhythmic cycle. The theatre impresarios spared no expense in having the top-most musicians of their times to compose tunes for the songs.

(To be continued)