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By:

Shoma A. Chatterji

21 August 2024 at 10:49:40 am

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat...

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat is that it was first performed by Usha Ganguly and her troupe way back in 1997 and has already performed around 500 shows spanning 30 years and signifies the cross-generational reach and popularity of the play. We saw a group of absolutely new actors dedicated to Rangakarmee. Their performance defined the strict discipline, the constant workouts and rehearsals to keep mobile and flexible because the very big cast needed to be perfect in body, mind and spirit during each 45-minute performance. What does the word Maiyyat mean? It is said to have its roots in Arabic and literally, it translates as ‘dead body’ or ‘corpse.’ The play is rooted in the deep internalization among the low castes of their exploitation and torture by the Brahmins of their village. The Brahmins are proud in their gait, their body language and even in their pure form of dress with the holy thread of Brahminism proudly on display. The custom of the proud, arrogant and rude Brahmins is to choose at least one among the four untouchables to become the pall-bearer when someone of the upper-caste dies. Instead of feeling sad or insulted, the chosen untouchable feels blessed and proud for being allowed by this strange custom of becoming a fake “Brahmin” if even for one day. Lakku is one such untouchable who lives somewhere near Aurangabad and leads a miserable life of poverty with the burden of a mentally deranged, motherless son he takes care of. The pall is decorated heavily with flowers and instead of looking like a bourse, it is decorated with lots of flowers like a palanquin. Someone obviously among the Brahmins is dead and the other Brahmins draw lots to find out which untouchable will be chosen to offer his shoulder to the bourse. `When Lakku’s name comes up in the shuffling of the paper chips, he is thrilled that at least for one day, he will enjoy the ‘blessing’ of becoming a “Brahmin.” But forced to run through the village on an empty stomach and with a weak body, Lakku collapses and dies before the bourse can reach the crematorium. Now, the question is – who will carry his body and carry it to the cremation ground? The entire performance, with 23 theatre actors, originally scripted, designed and directed by Usha Ganguly, is now performed by a new young cast under the guidance, training and supervision of Amal Saha, Deepesh Rajak, and Anirudh Sarkar. It has been conceived and designed like a musical opera with every Brahmin member of the cast, including the young women, dressed traditionally in pristine white with lots of marigold garlands and a sandalwood tikka adorning their foreheads. Though there are dialogues in the performance, these are either among the leading and decisive members among the Brahmins or scoldings and threats from the Brahmins to the four members from the untouchable tribe, each one representing a different low caste. These four men, alongwith Lakku and his mentally retarded son, keep waiting eagerly in one corner of the proscenium for the results of the lots to be drawn. They hug each other for joy when their names are announced and Lakku specially is thrilled with the responsibility of being pallbearer and becoming a Brahmin for just one night. Whose corpse is being carried in the bourse is not important. What is important is who are the pall bearers? At least, the Brahmins are not. What one carries home after watching a performance-play like Mayyat is the marvellous synchronization of the entire female cast wandering right around the proscenium space singing songs in complete harmony with not a note of error and the Brahmin men discussing, arguing and quarrelling over not how the corpse will be cremated but which low-caste man will become the pallbearer for one night. The bottom-line is caste is a continuous, historical evil. But should it remain so? (The writer is a noted film scholar. Views personal.)

Language Wars

India’s linguistic politics ignited once again when the website of the Life Insurance Corporation (LIC) of India briefly defaulted to Hindi, triggering protests across Tamil Nadu. Chief Minister M.K. Stalin lambasted the state-run insurer for reducing its website to a “propaganda tool for Hindi imposition,” decrying the absence of English as the default language while alleging cultural trampling. LIC quickly issued a clarification, attributing the incident to a “technical problem” but the damage had been done. Leaders from the AIADMK and the state’s Congress unit joined the chorus, accusing New Delhi of linguistic tyranny.

This anti-Hindi outrage is far from isolated. CPI(M) MP from Kerala, John Brittas, recently claimed that treasury bench members received cues to speak in Hindi, undermining the multilingual ethos of the legislature. Such incidents, he claimed, were symptomatic of a broader attempt to elevate Hindi as the de facto national language.


For Tamil Nadu and the southern states, anti-Hindi grievances have a long history. The language agitations of the 1950s and 60s, spearheaded by the Dravidian movement, were driven by fears that Hindi might marginalize Tamil. These protests reshaped India’s linguistic policies, securing the primacy of regional languages in their respective states while maintaining English as a link language. These movements ensured the primacy of regional languages in states while making Hindi and English co-official languages at the national level. Tamil Nadu, in particular, owes its linguistic pride to this legacy of resistance.


Yet, today’s anti-Hindi tirades often appear less about defending Tamil, Telugu or Kannada, and more about consolidating political clout. Leaders like Stalin have transformed the language debate into a rallying cry, portraying New Delhi’s policy measures - such as promoting Hindi in Union government communications - as attacks on federalism. This is disingenuous. Even as they rail against Hindi in public, these same leaders promote English as the lingua franca of aspiration, sidelining their regional tongues in higher education and employment.


This selective zeal for linguistic purity exposes the cracks in their rhetoric. The genuine fear of losing linguistic identity cannot explain why, for instance, Tamil Nadu routinely outsources its state board syllabus to English. Nor does it justify the stark divide in urban and rural educational standards, where fluency in English often determines economic mobility while Tamil is relegated to secondary importance. While Tamil Nadu opposes Hindi in schools, English-medium education thrives unabated, often endorsed by the very politicians decrying Hindi’s proliferation.


Across southern states, regional chauvinism is weaponized against New Delhi’s policies, but seldom against the tide of globalization that sidelines these same regional languages. The selective opposition to Hindi, while enabling English to dominate, undermines their credibility.

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