A deep need to touch the things that transcend time or are mysteriously spared by time is perhaps built into our DNA. Hence India’s great love for the Ramlila, the immortal nine-day spectacle based on the life of Lord Ram. It was first set into motion by the poet Tulsidas in Varanasi and eventually caught the imagination of the entire Hindi belt, where it is staged annually in most towns during the nine days that culminate in Dussera.
The first Ramlila I remember is the one I saw in Mukteshwar during the Dussera holidays in 1955. Mukteshwar was then a small subdivision in the district of Nainital. Without TV or even a regular supply of newspapers, linear time for us was marked by the school timetable and the spectacular and significant melas or Ramlilas in Nainital, Almora, Bhowali and Mukteshwar. Of course, there was also the geological time of our mountains that spanned millions of years. And the galactic time of the stars, whose place in the sky created the festivals and gave us longish school vacations: Pitru Paksh, followed by the Navratris ending in Dussera, to be followed by Diwali and Bhai Dooj. All these involved long weeks of merrymaking and eating.
If the official vacations did not match, our uncle, the much-venerated Doctor Sahib could be relied upon to ensure we attended classes in Mukteshwar with his sons till our schools back in Almora or Nainital reopened. It was October and as usual we had trekked happily across the Gola river from Almora, to arrive at my mother’s elder sister’s spacious and chaotic house. And since the talent scouts of the Ramlila Committees relied heavily on recruits from among the local students, my siblings and I had a huge interest in visiting several Lilas in nearby towns if we could, to cheer our classmates elevated to a divine stardom for nine days.
The recruitments for the (all male) cast began early, a fortnight before the Navratris, and each evening the actors were put through a rigorous regimen with the Master Prompter (usually the local green grocer), the tabla player (Buddhi Ballabh Compounder from the hospital in Mukteshwar) and a (usually) blind harmonium player from some music school. During this period, the Chosen Ones were to eat only vegetarian meals cooked by specially recruited cooks who also handled important roles in the Ramlila, but were often high on attar (ganja). They said, according to school gossip, that without inhaling the attar smoke, they could not concentrate on the task. Bum bum! Kamaye duniya khayen hum! (The world earns and we shall eat), they said as they inhaled and stirred the pots by turn.
Setting the stage
The stage was erected a few days before the Lila with timber, which was then plentiful and not too well protected. It was transported to the venue by hefty Dotyals, coolies from Nepal’s Doti village. The villagers from surrounding villages helped the Ramlila Committees with money and also the Lila stage hung with borrowed curtains and various painted drop scenes. Electricity was sporadic so the outdoor stage was lit by many petromax lamps with men like our crusty old cook Bishan Dutt in charge of the necessary and periodic pumping.
Bishan Dutt was a man of many parts. He could play the dholak, sing bhajans before the curtain rose and could be relied upon to double up as some minor character if need be. He ensured we had seats of honour next to the Committee Members and carried bags full of peanuts to feed our friends who were members of Ram’s fabled Vanar Sena. This unruly and lovable mob of school kids was recruited en masse without any screening but with strict instructions not to get carried away and try to bite members of the audience when teased.
Women and infants sat on one side, and men on the other. The Ramlila Committee Members sat in front dressed formally with pugrees on their heads. To our left stood a school table modestly draped in a sheet. It had a register on which the Committee Khajanchi Babu (treasurer) noted the various awards offered to exceptional performers by members of the audience. We observed that it was the Joker and the villains who usually carried away bulk of the awards. It seemed they had the best lines. The awards were utilitarian and the givers were not too rich but pragmatic folk. It was thus not unusual for Sita Mai or Queen Kaikeyi to be awarded with a packet of blades or a pair of socks or a bottle of Rooh Afza sherbet. The children playing simian roles were usually presented with toffees or packets of Gluco biscuits or bananas.
Lighting the way
To all of us then, Ramlila was both kautik (a fair) and thethar (theatre). Villagers walked miles holding little twigs from resinous pine trees lighting their paths. Whole families turned up with women often bursting into songs, the children laughing and bawling by turns and the older ones muttering and hurrying up their broods. As one walked to the venue, the sounds of the harmonium, and a little further, the tabla drums being tuned behind the curtains became audible. Khut khut and then the satisfied bum bum bum be bum! on the left drum announced the completion of this particularly delicate task.
Finally the curtains rose with the sound of a conch shell and lights fell bewitchingly on a painted drop scene showing the Divine Five – Ram, Sita, Lakshman, Bharat and Shatrughan – with Hanuman bowing on one knee his mace in hand and the king’s palaces with many trees and birds all around them. At this point, as the singing of Sri Ramchandra Kripalu Bhajman began, even women breastfeeding their infants gently put them down and all of us touched our foreheads to the ground asking for blessings from the gods.
Over the next eight days, Ram’s birth, his marriage to Sita, the slaying of Ravana the demon king, and Ram’s elevation as the king of Ayodhya, remained the biggest crowd pullers. Angad-Ravana dialogues and Hanuman the monkey god setting fire to the demon king’s golden Lanka, were also scenes to die for.
The Almora Ramlila was a tad more cosmopolitan, given that its handlers from the local Hukka Club were a comparatively well-heeled and well-travelled bunch of local land owners. They relied on the Awadhi text from Ramcharitmanas mainly, but also drew deeply from various vernacular wells that fed the late 19th-century Hindustani Parsi theatre, including the various invocations to gods set to classical ragas. They even went on to buy the house where Uday Shankar once had his academy, and used its timber to refurbish their club and several of the stage props for their Ramlila.
Bhajans and ghazals
The actors in Almora would often deliver their lines in Urdu. Ram, for example, would sing a ghazal (Hairanhoon main..) when he first saw Sita, and Sita sang out at her abductor Ravan: Ai Ravan tujhe marney ka khauf o khatar hi nahin! (Oh Ravan, who do you threaten? Aren’t you afraid of death?) The boastful kings vying for Sita’s hand freely used local dialects to great effect: “ Main chhoon Khatyadi ko Raja, mainkan dekhi Ravan bhaja” (I am the Lord of village Khatyadi, who scares away Ravan) or “Jang Bhadur nam chhomyoro, Nepal ko Raja chyoon, dhanushvanush kyan nee tutan Sita ko le janya chhun” (I am Jang Bhadur, the king of Nepal. I can’t break the bow but will carry off Sita).
Muslims, though a minuscule presence in the hills, participated freely. There was a famous Shoorapanakha played by one Master Khudabaksh of Pithoragadh. It was said he continued to act out his role even after suffering major family tragedies. Among the musicians was one Ustad Amanat Husein Khan, who introduced a subtly sensuous tal addha teental, called Chanchari, into Kumaon. Mamu Halwai, the sweet maker in Nainital, was the most sought-after Ravana and sported a fearsome moustache. If we missed Ramlila one year, Mamu would later produce for us his famous Ravan laugh as compensation, and then go back to weighing out his jalebis.
To date the most enchanting thing about those remembered Ramlilas of Kumaon for me is the cheerfulness and wisdom they exude. It is an art form that belongs entirely to a people who have existed perennially on the margins of history. They have, instead of sulking, created their own unselfconscious methods by accepting, mixing and recreating musical and theatrical forms constantly. A twilight fragrant with the flowers from the bushes nearby, they decided early on, is a much better setting than an airconditioned hall for staging a play about a young exiled prince who manages to slay the bully, helped by a humble band of monkeys, apes and bears from the forest. This is Knowledge, devoid of academic hubris and the pundits’ doctrinairism, saving lives and lighting them up. Ramlila in the hills is where men, women and children come looking for God in a human face, and go back satiated, hopeful and happy.
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The first Ramlila I remember is the one I saw in Mukteshwar during the Dussera holidays in 1955. Mukteshwar was then a small subdivision in the district of Nainital. Without TV or even a regular supply of newspapers, linear time for us was marked by the school timetable and the spectacular and significant melas or Ramlilas in Nainital, Almora, Bhowali and Mukteshwar. Of course, there was also the geological time of our mountains that spanned millions of years. And the galactic time of the stars, whose place in the sky created the festivals and gave us longish school vacations: Pitru Paksh, followed by the Navratris ending in Dussera, to be followed by Diwali and Bhai Dooj. All these involved long weeks of merrymaking and eating.
If the official vacations did not match, our uncle, the much-venerated Doctor Sahib could be relied upon to ensure we attended classes in Mukteshwar with his sons till our schools back in Almora or Nainital reopened. It was October and as usual we had trekked happily across the Gola river from Almora, to arrive at my mother’s elder sister’s spacious and chaotic house. And since the talent scouts of the Ramlila Committees relied heavily on recruits from among the local students, my siblings and I had a huge interest in visiting several Lilas in nearby towns if we could, to cheer our classmates elevated to a divine stardom for nine days.
The recruitments for the (all male) cast began early, a fortnight before the Navratris, and each evening the actors were put through a rigorous regimen with the Master Prompter (usually the local green grocer), the tabla player (Buddhi Ballabh Compounder from the hospital in Mukteshwar) and a (usually) blind harmonium player from some music school. During this period, the Chosen Ones were to eat only vegetarian meals cooked by specially recruited cooks who also handled important roles in the Ramlila, but were often high on attar (ganja). They said, according to school gossip, that without inhaling the attar smoke, they could not concentrate on the task. Bum bum! Kamaye duniya khayen hum! (The world earns and we shall eat), they said as they inhaled and stirred the pots by turn.
Setting the stage
The stage was erected a few days before the Lila with timber, which was then plentiful and not too well protected. It was transported to the venue by hefty Dotyals, coolies from Nepal’s Doti village. The villagers from surrounding villages helped the Ramlila Committees with money and also the Lila stage hung with borrowed curtains and various painted drop scenes. Electricity was sporadic so the outdoor stage was lit by many petromax lamps with men like our crusty old cook Bishan Dutt in charge of the necessary and periodic pumping.
Bishan Dutt was a man of many parts. He could play the dholak, sing bhajans before the curtain rose and could be relied upon to double up as some minor character if need be. He ensured we had seats of honour next to the Committee Members and carried bags full of peanuts to feed our friends who were members of Ram’s fabled Vanar Sena. This unruly and lovable mob of school kids was recruited en masse without any screening but with strict instructions not to get carried away and try to bite members of the audience when teased.
Women and infants sat on one side, and men on the other. The Ramlila Committee Members sat in front dressed formally with pugrees on their heads. To our left stood a school table modestly draped in a sheet. It had a register on which the Committee Khajanchi Babu (treasurer) noted the various awards offered to exceptional performers by members of the audience. We observed that it was the Joker and the villains who usually carried away bulk of the awards. It seemed they had the best lines. The awards were utilitarian and the givers were not too rich but pragmatic folk. It was thus not unusual for Sita Mai or Queen Kaikeyi to be awarded with a packet of blades or a pair of socks or a bottle of Rooh Afza sherbet. The children playing simian roles were usually presented with toffees or packets of Gluco biscuits or bananas.
Lighting the way
To all of us then, Ramlila was both kautik (a fair) and thethar (theatre). Villagers walked miles holding little twigs from resinous pine trees lighting their paths. Whole families turned up with women often bursting into songs, the children laughing and bawling by turns and the older ones muttering and hurrying up their broods. As one walked to the venue, the sounds of the harmonium, and a little further, the tabla drums being tuned behind the curtains became audible. Khut khut and then the satisfied bum bum bum be bum! on the left drum announced the completion of this particularly delicate task.
Finally the curtains rose with the sound of a conch shell and lights fell bewitchingly on a painted drop scene showing the Divine Five – Ram, Sita, Lakshman, Bharat and Shatrughan – with Hanuman bowing on one knee his mace in hand and the king’s palaces with many trees and birds all around them. At this point, as the singing of Sri Ramchandra Kripalu Bhajman began, even women breastfeeding their infants gently put them down and all of us touched our foreheads to the ground asking for blessings from the gods.
Over the next eight days, Ram’s birth, his marriage to Sita, the slaying of Ravana the demon king, and Ram’s elevation as the king of Ayodhya, remained the biggest crowd pullers. Angad-Ravana dialogues and Hanuman the monkey god setting fire to the demon king’s golden Lanka, were also scenes to die for.
The Almora Ramlila was a tad more cosmopolitan, given that its handlers from the local Hukka Club were a comparatively well-heeled and well-travelled bunch of local land owners. They relied on the Awadhi text from Ramcharitmanas mainly, but also drew deeply from various vernacular wells that fed the late 19th-century Hindustani Parsi theatre, including the various invocations to gods set to classical ragas. They even went on to buy the house where Uday Shankar once had his academy, and used its timber to refurbish their club and several of the stage props for their Ramlila.
Bhajans and ghazals
The actors in Almora would often deliver their lines in Urdu. Ram, for example, would sing a ghazal (Hairanhoon main..) when he first saw Sita, and Sita sang out at her abductor Ravan: Ai Ravan tujhe marney ka khauf o khatar hi nahin! (Oh Ravan, who do you threaten? Aren’t you afraid of death?) The boastful kings vying for Sita’s hand freely used local dialects to great effect: “ Main chhoon Khatyadi ko Raja, mainkan dekhi Ravan bhaja” (I am the Lord of village Khatyadi, who scares away Ravan) or “Jang Bhadur nam chhomyoro, Nepal ko Raja chyoon, dhanushvanush kyan nee tutan Sita ko le janya chhun” (I am Jang Bhadur, the king of Nepal. I can’t break the bow but will carry off Sita).
Muslims, though a minuscule presence in the hills, participated freely. There was a famous Shoorapanakha played by one Master Khudabaksh of Pithoragadh. It was said he continued to act out his role even after suffering major family tragedies. Among the musicians was one Ustad Amanat Husein Khan, who introduced a subtly sensuous tal addha teental, called Chanchari, into Kumaon. Mamu Halwai, the sweet maker in Nainital, was the most sought-after Ravana and sported a fearsome moustache. If we missed Ramlila one year, Mamu would later produce for us his famous Ravan laugh as compensation, and then go back to weighing out his jalebis.
To date the most enchanting thing about those remembered Ramlilas of Kumaon for me is the cheerfulness and wisdom they exude. It is an art form that belongs entirely to a people who have existed perennially on the margins of history. They have, instead of sulking, created their own unselfconscious methods by accepting, mixing and recreating musical and theatrical forms constantly. A twilight fragrant with the flowers from the bushes nearby, they decided early on, is a much better setting than an airconditioned hall for staging a play about a young exiled prince who manages to slay the bully, helped by a humble band of monkeys, apes and bears from the forest. This is Knowledge, devoid of academic hubris and the pundits’ doctrinairism, saving lives and lighting them up. Ramlila in the hills is where men, women and children come looking for God in a human face, and go back satiated, hopeful and happy.