The Opera (Sheelabhadra)
All the rich people were bad. But nobody knew what on earth the source of their earning and wealth was. Nobody, nevertheless, bothered to know. They quarreled with each other, they hatched plots against each other and they were up to all sorts of mischief. Well, all of them were not as bad. One of the brothers, probably the youngest one, was rather too good. He was handsome and he was well dressed. Ostensibly he preferred expensive apparels. He liked the cricket stars and the models that crowded the TV screen endorsing assortment of products. This was, however, not easy to fathom whether he was a student or did something for a living. But it was most likely that he, in fact, was not in the habit of doing anything substantial, for if he had, he would not have found so much of time and leisure to deliver those long didactic speeches even at the fall of a hat. Nevertheless, the boy had deep love and sympathy for the poor, for the have not. But whether his compassion was a part of his general attitude or it was a selective sentiment limited to the good looking maidservant of the household was a matter of serious suspicion though. Everyone was clueless about her education but her awful wisdom and the frequent display of profound knowledge was bewildering and amazing. She was superbly gifted to sing like Lata Mangeshkar, dance like Sonal Mansingh, make speeches like Jyoti Basu and what not. Her flamboyant oratory, that verged on sedition, against the exploitation and oppression of the poor by the ruling bourgeoisie, had effectively spurred me to join the charged up crowd breaking down with thunderous applause. I even nudged Srimanta to stimulate him share my frenzied sentiment:
‘Kamal ho gaya’
I was utterly taken aback at my own disposition. Did I ever speak this language before? Is it the way I talk? There was hardly any time to ponder over such trivial matters. The play progressed to reach its climax.
The elder daughter in-law, with her rich family background and exposure to higher education, made life hell for her mother in-law. Her eldest son was a henpecked scoundrel, would always take side of his fussy wife. Seeing and enduring all this all the time. Hearing the moral lessons of her younger son in regular intervals, at last she could not help but give in and as a result she had to overhaul her moral stance and take a highly humanitarian approach to life and reality. After being adequately enlightened by the speeches, the mother-in-law finally threw away all her punctilious values and agreed to accept the maidservant of the household as the younger daughter in-law of the family. A befitting dialogue accompanied this dramatic turnaround. She proclaimed:
‘Neither family background nor education can turn a man into a person of true character. These are not real yardstick to judge mankind. A person should be judged by the one and one only quality of Humanity, and Humanity and Humanity.’
The hall erupted with deafening applause and catcalls. And the play, amidst roaring praise, came to an end.
We then began our struggle to come out onto the open. Everybody had his catharsis. Everybody was elated. Everybody was full of praise. Everybody was seemingly happy and so was I.
* * *
‘Lets go to the theatre. Today is the last show.’
‘Please spare me from that noisy spot. I don’t like those stuff.’
‘C’mon, lets go. Everybody is all praise for them.’
‘Eh, forget it.’
‘That’s how you turned yourself into an obnoxious old nut. No interest in anything. I had my tickets booked right in the morning, else where on earth can you get them now. You need to literally fight for it. C’mon get ready.’
My friend almost forcefully took me to the theatre. I discovered myself amidst the loud glow of light and thickening noise. People in hordes were rushing in towards the makeshift theatre pandal. There were incessant announcements over the loudspeaker. They were exhorting people not to miss that rare opportunity of lifetime to watch the greatest play of the year. Such a performance was never performed in the history of mobile theatre nor was there any slim chance of having such a superlative performance ever repeated in future.
I felt out of place amidst the crowd. There was wild pressure of impatient mob from all directions. Everybody had the tremendous urgency to go ahead of others. Full of commotion, full of chaos.
When the group of audience came storming out after the earlier show, the other group, standing outside, invested all its force to go in. The situation went berserk. The audience of the first show was rushing out with their temperaments out of control and other group waiting outside tried to go in with similar unbridled urgency. A terrible pandemonium.
It was tricky to stagger towards the seat through the narrow aisle between the rows of chairs. By trampling on the toes and stumbling on the knees of others we could finally reach our seats to settle in and stare at the giant curtain in front. Meanwhile, other people were trampling on us to reach their seats. It was well past the scheduled time of the show.
The audience in the gallery became restive at the delay and reacted with an impressive ruckus. When the scheduled show time went past an hour, it turned into frenzied cacophony.
Finally the show started with a dance drama as the prelude to the play. It was not clear as to what they wanted to drive home at with those queer choreography and clumsy gyrations. But the spectators were apparently enamored. They were making a variety of noises to express their appreciation of the performance. Wolfwhistles, catcalls, screams and an assortment of appreciative sounds filled in the entire hall.
It was followed by the main play. The characters of the play spoke what we wanted to hear. They had showed what we wanted to see. There was a daughter in-law who had passed her B.A., but terribly boorish and snooty, perhaps the consequence of women education. There were some rich people (none could make it out what was their source of income) and there were some poor people (given their dress it was difficult to think them so). Every poor man is like an angel. They had wonderful knowledge on politics, philosophy, sociology, economics and on everything under the sun. They could speak every good thing on earth on end. They were all good men, wise and honest.
The spectators, on their part, went on applauding happily as the play proceeded.
The featured story is a translation of Sheelabhadra's short story from Assamese into English by Dr. Jyotirmoy Prodhani. Dr. Prodhani is the Head and Associate Professor in the Dept. of English at North-Eastern Hill University, (Tura campus), Meghalaya, India. He edits an International research journal, PROTOCOL: Journal of Translation, Creative and Critical Writings. He has extensively translated literary works from Assamese and Rajbongshi into English. His areas of research are postmodern theatre, ethnic studies and folklore.
All the rich people were bad. But nobody knew what on earth the source of their earning and wealth was. Nobody, nevertheless, bothered to know. They quarreled with each other, they hatched plots against each other and they were up to all sorts of mischief. Well, all of them were not as bad. One of the brothers, probably the youngest one, was rather too good. He was handsome and he was well dressed. Ostensibly he preferred expensive apparels. He liked the cricket stars and the models that crowded the TV screen endorsing assortment of products. This was, however, not easy to fathom whether he was a student or did something for a living. But it was most likely that he, in fact, was not in the habit of doing anything substantial, for if he had, he would not have found so much of time and leisure to deliver those long didactic speeches even at the fall of a hat. Nevertheless, the boy had deep love and sympathy for the poor, for the have not. But whether his compassion was a part of his general attitude or it was a selective sentiment limited to the good looking maidservant of the household was a matter of serious suspicion though. Everyone was clueless about her education but her awful wisdom and the frequent display of profound knowledge was bewildering and amazing. She was superbly gifted to sing like Lata Mangeshkar, dance like Sonal Mansingh, make speeches like Jyoti Basu and what not. Her flamboyant oratory, that verged on sedition, against the exploitation and oppression of the poor by the ruling bourgeoisie, had effectively spurred me to join the charged up crowd breaking down with thunderous applause. I even nudged Srimanta to stimulate him share my frenzied sentiment:
‘Kamal ho gaya’
I was utterly taken aback at my own disposition. Did I ever speak this language before? Is it the way I talk? There was hardly any time to ponder over such trivial matters. The play progressed to reach its climax.
The elder daughter in-law, with her rich family background and exposure to higher education, made life hell for her mother in-law. Her eldest son was a henpecked scoundrel, would always take side of his fussy wife. Seeing and enduring all this all the time. Hearing the moral lessons of her younger son in regular intervals, at last she could not help but give in and as a result she had to overhaul her moral stance and take a highly humanitarian approach to life and reality. After being adequately enlightened by the speeches, the mother-in-law finally threw away all her punctilious values and agreed to accept the maidservant of the household as the younger daughter in-law of the family. A befitting dialogue accompanied this dramatic turnaround. She proclaimed:
‘Neither family background nor education can turn a man into a person of true character. These are not real yardstick to judge mankind. A person should be judged by the one and one only quality of Humanity, and Humanity and Humanity.’
The hall erupted with deafening applause and catcalls. And the play, amidst roaring praise, came to an end.
We then began our struggle to come out onto the open. Everybody had his catharsis. Everybody was elated. Everybody was full of praise. Everybody was seemingly happy and so was I.
* * *
‘Lets go to the theatre. Today is the last show.’
‘Please spare me from that noisy spot. I don’t like those stuff.’
‘C’mon, lets go. Everybody is all praise for them.’
‘Eh, forget it.’
‘That’s how you turned yourself into an obnoxious old nut. No interest in anything. I had my tickets booked right in the morning, else where on earth can you get them now. You need to literally fight for it. C’mon get ready.’
My friend almost forcefully took me to the theatre. I discovered myself amidst the loud glow of light and thickening noise. People in hordes were rushing in towards the makeshift theatre pandal. There were incessant announcements over the loudspeaker. They were exhorting people not to miss that rare opportunity of lifetime to watch the greatest play of the year. Such a performance was never performed in the history of mobile theatre nor was there any slim chance of having such a superlative performance ever repeated in future.
I felt out of place amidst the crowd. There was wild pressure of impatient mob from all directions. Everybody had the tremendous urgency to go ahead of others. Full of commotion, full of chaos.
When the group of audience came storming out after the earlier show, the other group, standing outside, invested all its force to go in. The situation went berserk. The audience of the first show was rushing out with their temperaments out of control and other group waiting outside tried to go in with similar unbridled urgency. A terrible pandemonium.
It was tricky to stagger towards the seat through the narrow aisle between the rows of chairs. By trampling on the toes and stumbling on the knees of others we could finally reach our seats to settle in and stare at the giant curtain in front. Meanwhile, other people were trampling on us to reach their seats. It was well past the scheduled time of the show.
The audience in the gallery became restive at the delay and reacted with an impressive ruckus. When the scheduled show time went past an hour, it turned into frenzied cacophony.
Finally the show started with a dance drama as the prelude to the play. It was not clear as to what they wanted to drive home at with those queer choreography and clumsy gyrations. But the spectators were apparently enamored. They were making a variety of noises to express their appreciation of the performance. Wolfwhistles, catcalls, screams and an assortment of appreciative sounds filled in the entire hall.
It was followed by the main play. The characters of the play spoke what we wanted to hear. They had showed what we wanted to see. There was a daughter in-law who had passed her B.A., but terribly boorish and snooty, perhaps the consequence of women education. There were some rich people (none could make it out what was their source of income) and there were some poor people (given their dress it was difficult to think them so). Every poor man is like an angel. They had wonderful knowledge on politics, philosophy, sociology, economics and on everything under the sun. They could speak every good thing on earth on end. They were all good men, wise and honest.
The spectators, on their part, went on applauding happily as the play proceeded.
The featured story is a translation of Sheelabhadra's short story from Assamese into English by Dr. Jyotirmoy Prodhani. Dr. Prodhani is the Head and Associate Professor in the Dept. of English at North-Eastern Hill University, (Tura campus), Meghalaya, India. He edits an International research journal, PROTOCOL: Journal of Translation, Creative and Critical Writings. He has extensively translated literary works from Assamese and Rajbongshi into English. His areas of research are postmodern theatre, ethnic studies and folklore.
