Introduction

Being a dancer and artist is not an easy path; it plagues one with an ever searching demeanour, one which entrepreneurial drive can lead you on a meandering path forever in search of the next stop to make along the way. In attempting to make that next stop, I feel it necessary to take a reflective look at my artistic journey thus far in order to better plan as opposed to just being taken by the journey. Discovering the MA course at Rhodes University has been the true culmination of my artistic journey, application and acceptance into the program was itself a divinely guided experience. It is indeed a blessing to have the chance to now critically reflect through research and practice. In so doing, I am inspired and motivated to search further and continue on my artistic journey which I know will be both fascinating and fulfilling, as it has been thus far.

In this paper, I wish to review related literature on the appreciation of Bharatanatyam and Indian dance artists of the diaspora. I will also provide a reflective look at traditional practices versus artists who have interrogated and developed new ways of approaching traditional Indian dance practices.

Bharatanatyam as one of the eight classical dance styles of India is a highly technical and structured art form which stems from the temple dancers or devadasis in India who would dance in praise of the Hindu deities. The content of traditional Bharatanatyam has a strong mythological and religious subject matter steeped in storytelling, praise and worship of the deities. In modern times, it is necessary for accessibility of the art to be refined by constant refreshing of the classical styles in order for artists and audiences to find Bharatanatyam relatable and relevant. This indeed has been my personal experience.

My research has helped me uncover that there are many artists plagued with these issues of self-discovery, and discovering them, has helped me gain a more global perspective on developing a contemporary mind set amongst the general fraternity of traditional classical dance styles and their practicing artists. Leela Samson[1], a Bharatanatyam exponent and author from India and a Jewish-Catholic Indian, has interesting views on the classicality versus contemporary in dance. She has extensive work prevalent to this paper which I will refer to, her views on dance as a career below:

You do not merely represent the God or the wind, you become it. Martha Graham famously said, ‘Only if there is just one way to make life vivid for yourself should you embark on such a career.’ It is both tragic and fortunate that a dancer’s instrument is her body – strong yet fragile, arrogant yet emotional, intelligent yet naïve. (Samson, 2014: 7)

As a global leader of Bharatanatyam, Samson’s understanding of a dancer at grassroots level is shown clearly in her work. She has a gentle vigour to her academic work that inadvertently pushes her colleagues to criticize her. She has not been afraid to step away from unwelcoming arts circles as opposed to enduring them just for the benefit of name and fame. As a result she is highly respected by many contemporary and classical dancers all over the world. I appreciate her work as even though she is native Indian, she seems to somewhat understand the contemporary diasporic artist.

Without too much of a personal focus, my research has led me on to a very different train of thought as I had originally intended. What started out as an auto-ethnography has in fact turned out to be a reflective unravelling of an entire body of theoretical knowledge based exactly upon the so-called dilemma I thought I was facing. My “dilemma” revolves around being a South African artist in a multi-cultural society, yet having an Indian arts background, also being a diaspora and how to create sustainable art as such. To South African Indian audiences itself, Bharatanatyam is difficult to relate to. After attempting to morph with my audience needs, I tried choreography in an Indian contemporary and/or Bollywood style, which seemed to be much more in demand for broader audiences. After embarking to India on a governmental scholarship to learn kathak[2] dance, I returned to South Africa, unsatisfied at my attempts to find my roots in what I believed at the time was my motherland. In fact, what I profoundly realised through this experience is that I am in fact South African first, and Indian second. Upon returning from India, disheartened at my fate, yet grateful to be home, I discovered a private theatre college in Port Elizabeth, Stageworld, where I studied a 3 year diploma in acting, performance art and drama. This course changed my views on my art, as I started to understand the theory of acting and the power of telling a story through depth of characterization, and if using dance in between, this should forward the plot. I also found my Guru, Marlene Thomasse-Pieterse.[3] After experimenting during these three years with short production pieces of this combined style of western drama and Indian dance, a niche started to unravel before my feet. Next thing I knew, I was writing, producing and directing my own work and being invited to perform around South Africa, sometimes on my own steam to expose my work, other times being invited for Indian community festivals or events.

Having now been a lecturer at Stageworld and a practicing full-time performer for 5 years, I yearn to push myself further in search for the next step of artistic growth which the MA program has brought about.

I found myself looking harshly at Bharatanatyam, its teachers, its style and its general compass – it seemed to upset me that it has such a strong focus on aesthetics, the artistry in this art form seems encroached with an unspoken veil of “holiness” – this making its core beauty inaccessible to me, as an exponent of this very tradition. I could not gain artistic respect from Bharatanatyam Guru’s, my work was insulted by classicalists and I was being constantly shoved about as Bharatanatyam communities within South Africa could not seem to box or categorize my work. I felt alone, and isolated from my own art form which I spent almost 7 years in training for completion of the Bharatanatyam Diploma[4].

Upon embarking on research to write about the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam for the MA program, is when I discovered the work and writings of diasporic artists.

According to the World Book Dictionary, a diaspora refers to “the scattering of any group; dispersion” (Barnhart & Barnhart (Eds), 1993: 580). Unknowingly, my personal plight has been the very predicament of many other diasporic artists spread geographically all over the world, originating in race by original Indian decent. Most of these artists are in fact well respected, successful, highly talented and influential industry specialists.

Renowned UK based British Indian dancer (kathak) and award-winning choreographer of Bangladeshi decent, Akram Khan in his acclaimed productions Zero Degrees and Desh, deals with the essence of being an Indian diaspora and his experiences of returning to his motherland, India, and how these experiences of his homeland were so foreign to his being, that it caused him immense discomfort and emotional pain. He explores this yearning for belonging through these pieces. Leela Samson refers to the importance of having a contemporary mind-set within the study of a classical art form, viz. Bharatanatyam. Indian dancer, choreographer and revolutionist for contemporary Indian dance, Chandraleka and contemporary Indian dancer and activist Mallika Sarabhai share their accounts on contemporary Indian art in Professor in drama (UCLA), Ketu Katrak’s book, “Contemporary Indian Dance”. Lastly, award winning UK based Indian artist, dancer and choreographer Shobana Jeyasingh, has produced an immense body of contemporary Indian work. These avant guarde practitioners and their works are referenced and referred to in this paper.

I strive to find my own voice and space which stemmed originally from that feeling of isolation, towards a very interesting and thought provoking phenomenon which plagues diasporic Indian artists the world over.

As Leela Samson’s journey has revealed to her, “Every three hundred years, every fifty years, and every decade now, we see a new definition of classical, as we do of contemporary. As they say, ‘tradition is not what it used to be’ (Samson, 2014: 4). This step away from traditional Indian dance has been a natural process and one which chose me, rather than something which I went in search for.

This longing to challenge tradition and push artistic boundaries extends much further than Indian diaspora only; it seems to plague artists globally throughout time. It is most interesting and fascinating to note what Polish theatre director and theorist Jerzy Grotowski (1933-1999) alleges on facing one’s roots through art:

In my work as a producer, I have been tempted to make use of archaic situations sanctified by tradition, situations (within the realms of religion and tradition) which are taboo. I felt a need to confront myself with these values. They fascinated me, filling me with a sense of interior restlessness, while at the same time I was obeying a temptation to blaspheme: I wanted to attack them, go beyond them, and or rather confront them with my own experience which is itself determined by the collective experience of our time. This element of our productions has been variously called “collision with the roots”, “the dialectics of mockery and apotheosis”, or even “religion expressed through blasphemy; love speaking out through hate”. (Grotowski, 1992: 22)

    1. Area of Research: Finding a niche

Many of the artists referenced in this paper, have studied a western dance form in addition to one of the classical dance styles of India, viz. contemporary dance or ballet which they have then meshed with their Indian classical dance to create their own signature movement vocabulary which has led them to become well known for that unique niche and style. Royona Mitra, author on contemporary diasporic performer and artist, Akram Khan and his work, references professor and author John Russell Brown below:

Khan’s work is relevant to our times and self-referential. In this, he embodies the philosophy of performance-making as laid down in the Natyashastra which ‘requires performance to be grounded in the lives of performers and their audiences’ and is opposed ‘to any mode of performance laying claim to authenticity or permanent value’. (Brown, cited in Mitra, 2001: 50)

Ironically, this process of creation seemed to have occurred the opposite way for me. I have always strived towards attainment of a niche. I studied acting to combine my Indian dance (as a means to forward the plot – as in musicals) with English dialogue to create a sort of dance-drama that exposes Indian traditions through a modern interpretation of ancient and mythological stories. The productions I scripted, choreographed and produced include:

  • Divine Intervention (2012), a modern interpretation of the concept of reincarnation through time which takes a look at the deistical 10 incarnations of Lord Vishnu.
  • Devadasi – a dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets (2013)[5], which takes a look at the taboo and unspoken Devadasi tradition which is shrouded in mystery.
  • Sri Rama – a historical (2011), a one act play which shares the story of the life of a very well loved Indian deity, and His significance in the celebration of Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights.
  • Maya to Moksha – Illusion to Liberation (2011), a one act play.
  • Surya (2010) a one act play about the energy of the sun.
  • I also compiled a production called Kahlil on Love (2015) based on the work of Lebanese prophet, Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet.

These renditions served to put ancient concepts into modern understanding whereby the exposition is coupled with a relatable story line that is able to access and capture the attention of older and younger audiences of different cultural backgrounds.

This natural drift towards a cultural approach to works by artists of the diaspora is theorized below by Indian born Professor of English and American Literature and Language at Harvard University, USA, Homi Bhabha:

The borderline work of culture demands an encounter with ‘newness’ that is not part of the continuum of past and present. It creates a sense of the new as an insurgent act of cultural translation. Such art does not merely recall the past as social cause or aesthetic precedent; it renews the past, refiguring it as a contingent ‘in-between’ space, that innovates, and interrupts the performance of the present. The ‘past-present’ becomes part of the necessity, not the nostalgia, of living. (Bhabha, cited in Mitra, 2009: 49)

Chandralekha (1928-2006) describes the evolution of contemporary Indian dance, as the “in-between” space that lies between tradition and modernity; for contemporary artists this potent space of the in-between involves crossing different movement vocabularies, and other boundaries set up by nationality, ethnicity and religion. Chandralekha describes this as a personal “inward journey, a journey constantly relating, refining the reality of the in-between area; to enable tradition to flow free in our contemporary life” (Chandralekha, cited in Katrak, 2014: XVIII).

These views are echoed in my work, and I feel as if this contemporary stream can be the home for many artists who deviate from the traditional classical styles. Mine differs slightly, in that I have not mastered a western dance form, having only taken short learning courses in contemporary dance and ballet at adult level. As such, I do not play with dance styles, but rather with drama concepts and writing which explores multi-disciplinary work always involving Indian dance (my primary genre), with characterization and dialogue written in English, singing, and that it is usually one woman shows, enacted by myself[6].

    1. Bharatanatyam socio-historical perspectives: Looking back to look forward

Being a Bharatanatyam exponent, I believe I have learnt the necessary qualities and skills to successfully create my own art. As the late Medha Yodh (1927-2007), student of devadasi Balasaraswati[7] (1918-1984), who was a dancer and dance teacher at UCLA eloquently states “Bharatanatyam is a magnificent tool to centre human beings, to give them an inner sense of being and to teach them focus, poise, discipline and the integration of different arts” (Yodh, cited in Katrak, 2014: XXII). I believe the same to be true for any and all classical dance traditions, in this case though, as Katrak highlights, “Historical contextualization matters to our understanding of Contemporary Indian Dance” (Katrak, 2014: XIX).

Indian art through time has vastly been an oral tradition, with minimal continuous codification since the Natyashastra. [8] As a result the historification of Indian dance has been limited to those lucky enough to find a Guru to learn from.[9] Many of the concepts of Indian dance is unique and without easy reference to say for example, western theatre. Therefore, “Is it appropriate to use an English/Western term for an art movement in India or China or Africa without injury to the sense and sensibility of the location and practitioners of that form?” (Samson, 2014: 3). This has caused a seeming isolation for Indian dance among general western audiences. The accessibility seems limited, the understanding shielded and the connection somewhat indirect, which can be the cause of this isolation. Mallika Sarabhai comments on how she has utilised the Indian language for her contemporary creations:

We are fortunate in India to have an extremely sophisticated alphabet that has been handed down to us. For me as a twenty-first-century feminist woman to take that alphabet like the roots of a tree and to let its branches go where they want and to let the leaves fall where they will is the contemporary for me… We look into our traditions to create contemporary work that cannot be anything but Indian. (Sarabhai, cited in Katrak, 2014: XXII).

Mallika Sarabhai as activist has tackled on stage many sensitive issues plaguing the Indian societies and particularly women in productions such as Devi, Sita’s Daughters and In search of the Goddess. She has received much acclaim and honour in India and the world over, but also much criticism.[10]

  1. Challenging the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam and traditional Guru systems

“Proficiency and consistency are the hallmarks of great art. Ornamentation and impressionistic dance cannot sustain” (Samson, 2014: 7).

In its essential nature, Bharatanatyam has a strong focus on aesthetics: the 5 piece costume made specifically from an expensive kanjivaram sari[11], intricate hairstyle involving false hair in a long braid, a false hair ring bun, elaborate flowers, and of course the temple jewellery made up of a full set adorning the entire body. The eye, head, neck, hand, arm, body and feet movements are all learnt in isolation before being strung together to create intricate dance passages. These nritta[12] components need first be mastered before expression or navarasas[13] are taught. These emotive states lead to natya[14] dances which tell deistical stories involving characterization.

I believe these extremes in classical aesthetics have their place for very traditional audiences, but for current work which deconstructs, reveals, questions and interrogates, I believe these peripheral ornamentalisms are secondary. These elaborate extras are most times a hindrance physically, as there is nothing natural about false hair, or any costume that takes in excess of two hours to get into. I wish to refer to the Italian neo-classicists in imploring verisimilitude which is drama that is true to life. Can there be a combination between verisimilitude and deistical stories without infringing on realism on the one hand and classicality on the other?

I believe in creating a balance in this regard for contemporary art which can possibly be obtained by making the focus on the work, the story being told and the character’s voice. The character should dictate what he/she should wear. Costume is effective when it adds to the characters relatability as a human being first, and not if it is first and foremost a standard gaudy garment that might or might not reveal nuances of the character’s reality, viz. economic, social or geographical considerations.

Conversely, Professor Ramsay Burt interestingly points out the following in reference to the work of Akram Khan:

‘(It) initiates dialogues between modern Western aesthetic ideologies and Indian cultural traditions, but the very subject of these dialogues and the new kinds of cultural meaning which they have enabled’ (2004: 1)… he engages in this current and global dialogue between modernity and postmodernity, Western performance aesthetics and Indian tradition-bound rhetoric, and most importantly the personal and the political. (Burt, cited in Mitra 2009: 45)

These contrasting realities create much spectrum which I believe healthily challenge a broader goal of unity for the arts. As the Romanticism movement of the English dramatists of the 19th Century did, “they rejected all artistic rules, suggesting that geniuses create their own rules” (Wilson & Goldfarb, 1991: 237). If the aesthetic focus of Bharatanatyam performance is adhered to for cultural and traditional reasons, these views on the challenging of these norms support the beliefs and practices of many contemporary artists. Traditions and cultures are ever evolving as the human mind and spirit ventures towards the unknown for salvation, other than in the past where beliefs were indoctrinated into people and freedom of choice was not something commonly practiced. Samson on the issue from the Indian perspective:

It is simply a question of what your values in art are and what your philosophy is. These and numerous other categorisations based not only on historical periods, but also on religion, caste, sex, political affiliation, gharana[15], bani or style, on the colour of your skin, on whether you hail from the east or west, north or south, are rich or richer, poor or poorer – what else are we doing here but dividing ourselves on one or other of these types? It is the very thing that puts… people under intense pressure. (Samson, 2014: 4-5)

Globally, the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam seem to be in question and the once accepted norm of custom and tradition are being vastly questioned and immensely challenged. This seeking of the contemporary artist to create and develop their own style and medium has contrasted not only with the traditions and cultures but also with the teaching and learning style of classical Indian arts. Being vastly an oral tradition, the Guru has become a central figure in the practice of any classical dance form. Although highly valued in traditional Indian systems of practice, in the Mata-Pita-Guru-Devam[16] model, an unhealthy focus and pressure is placed on these Guru’s to produce a perfectly moulded classical exponent which will carry forth their particular name. This is a system that worked in the past as dancers then in turn passed on the same knowledge to their students which created a lineage system for different schools of Indian dance. For the contemporary minded artist, however, there is not much freedom artistically in this linear system. It has immense value of course, but stepping out of the lineage if chosen by the artist should not be such a taboo action in the eyes of traditionalists anymore. A contemporary artist will never reject their classical training as this always provides a solid foundation from which to create, and this fine line between contemporary artists who wish to venture out, and the respect gained by classicalists for doing so should be faced in order for more contemporary artists to flourish freely. Samson’s opinion on the issue:

On the practical level, dance requires a pretty good memory of abstract material not written down but passed on in the oral tradition, quick responses in learning and performance, an analytical approach to history, customs, rituals, theory, literature and music that are not necessarily taught in any organised fashion but handed down randomly at the will of the teacher, laborious hours of physical practice, an understanding of other art practices which your own form takes sustenance from or grew out of, and an emotional and philosophical centering that is not easily acquired and cannot be taught. Even simply in terms of controlling and using one’s own body skilfully… (Samson, 2014: 6-7)

For this view to come from an India born and based artist, one who has deep roots embedded in pure classical Bharatanatyam highlights the industry’s need to change in this regard. It is ironic, but not surprising that Samson is vastly opposed by many traditionalists in India and has faced much criticism for being a woman with such strong views.

2.1 Burden of Representation

On the opposite end of the scale, there seems to be another reality for diasporic artists to face. When performing, I have come across a general expectation (which sometimes borders on pressure) to perform to non-Indian audiences in a certain manner, one which satisfies the unintentional (somewhat ignorant) aesthetically pleasing expectation of audiences placed on Indian artists, more specifically Bharatanatyam dancers, to showcase themselves as an ornament of sorts. Whenever I perform Bharatanatyam the meaning is not gauged by audiences at all. I am left with audience comments involving aesthetics only, i.e. I love your jewellery. Where did you get it from? Your make-up is so nice. How long did it take you to get dressed? Can I take a picture with you?

It is frustrating to perform a deeply religious, intricate dance to audiences who, no matter how hard they try, cannot relate or access the value of the stories portrayed, the music and mostly the content of the Bharatanatyam language. As a result, this burden of representation somewhat removes the art from the classicality and all is wafted over the head of the audience member who is non-the-wiser. This in turn fuelled me as a diasporic artist to try something new, to change the focus to what would access and gauge the audience’s appreciation as per any and all other types of performances which they would pay their money to witness. Leela Samson passionately comments on this morph from classicality to contemporary and the negativity it might have to encounter:

Is there not a smack of prejudice… when the apex body decides who may be called classical, who contemporary? Because the categories were made at some point, we then become victims of such a list… I can be traditional, classical, neo-classical, modern, contemporary and anything else you wish to categorise me as, depending upon what your own understanding of these terms are, where you are coming from, what is your sanskaara[17], and how much you know about me or my work. I will not be boxed in by a limited estimation of me or my form. (Samson, 2014: 4)

I take this burden of representation as a personal fuel to erase this seemingly shallow perception of Indian dance in general. To remove the unnecessary aesthetics and reveal the real. As a diaspora, my art needs to be first and foremost accessible – as an agent for education, removal of stereotypes and mostly expositionist of the mysticism of the Hindu traditions. As Leela Samson alleges:

We refuse to acknowledge the layered and pluralistic character of people, faiths, their realities and cultural practices. It is this that has caused such untold suffering to people born long after Partition, but who carry wearily the burden of that legacy? (Samson, 2014: 5)

2.2 Fusion or confusion?

Where does fusion fit into all of this? Is fusing Indian art a way of removing these aesthetic ideals? Doesn’t fusion simply create confusion?

A natural starting point for a diasporic dance artist to expose their art has generally seemed to be through a fusion with various native cultures and their dance or art forms. In Port Elizabeth specifically, and South Africa generally, this was certainly the starting point for exposition of Indian arts especially post 1994 (Formal date of abolition of apartheid). Indian artists strove to form a part of the newly politically conceptualized rainbow nation by meshing Indian styles with other South African dance styles. This was a beautiful starting point for the Indian diasporic artist in South Africa.

Similarly, in the UK, Mitra on observation of Khan and his “confusion”, points out the following:

It would be fair to observe that while a contemporary and recurrent trend in… performance is to trace (this) hybrid reality by ‘contemporizing classicism’, not all such endeavours are successful. Commonly termed as ‘fusion’, such experiments reinforce the existence of classicism alongside contemporary systems and often lack deliberation and depth. These primarily formal experiments do not pursue in depth the sociological issues at stake. The result is often superficial, representing a world where different language systems coexist without the potential to penetrate each other. For many, the point of collisions between tradition and postmodernity remain just so. Collisions: never attaining mutual growth and remaining irreconcilable. I propose that for such endeavours to succeed, an intellectual understanding of the corporeal and cerebral embodiment of diaspora must accompany any formalist experimentation… the body for Khan is both the source of narrative and the primary medium of communication that transcends technique. And his expression lies in his artistic articulation of diaspora as not ‘fusion’ but ‘confusion’ – a condition that he deems as empowering, transient, evolving and positively embracing multiplicity. This has little or no traces whatsoever of the pain and nostalgia of diaspora of the past…Khan celebrates… ‘confusion’ and uses it artistically to articulate this ‘self’, instead of lamenting about his hybrid condition. (Mitra, 2009: 47)

The experimental fusion attempts by artists as an initial step towards contemporary art seems to be a temporary phase which cannot provide much depth of creation, unless full works are developed and made through this fusion style by combining and creating new movement languages. But if two dancers are retaining in entirety the essence of their own style and each moving in their own way to one piece of music, this is merely a cut-and-paste aesthetic method which might seemingly show cultural unity, but not much artistic depth or integrity.

  1. The Indian diasporic artist

Many Indian nationals found it necessary to venture to the west when colonialism in India dwindled opportunities to make a successful living in the mother land. As such, the diaspora spread to areas all over the west where they mostly ventured into various trades. Durban, South Africa, having the second largest population of Indians outside of India, is where Indians were brought down mostly as slaves on the sugarcane farm fields of Natal. This was not without its price on, at the time, untold manifestations for the handful of Indian artists who chose to practise art in the west. In order to deeper understand the diasporic mind, particularly through dance and art; I refer to various academics and authors below.

Author Parm Kaur articulates the tension that took over UK Indian diasporic artist, Shobana Jeyasingh and her artistic vision as she began to rationalize the place for the prescriptive language of Bharatanatyam, and summarizes:

It was impossible for Jeyasingh to use her known language of Bharatanatyam, as she was occupying a different physical, social, political and aesthetic space. I.e. Britain and her position in Britain as a post-colonial subject, within the context of stylistic changes in (the) contemporary dance scene happening around her, as well as her own fascination for the intellectualism of dance (N.D.). (Kaur, cited in Mitra, 2009: 43)

I can deeply relate to this phenomenon. Author and Doctor Alessandra Lopez y Royo observes this growing tension in the practice of many contemporary British Asian dancers and choreographers who, like Jeyasingh, have started to question the role of classicism in their current globalized existences. She claims, thus, that some contemporary diasporic artists are consciously embracing Western models of neoclassicism within their practice after a period of engagement with (and for some alongside) post-modern features of rupture and hybridity in order to look for ways to ‘reclaim their artistic freedom and integrity and actively participate as interlocutors in British dance discourse’ (Lopez y Royo, cited in Mitra, 2009: 43).

Dramaturg Grehan Helen comments that diasporic studies have theorized the in-between identity by putting forward several oppositional models:

Undertaking a journey from their homeland to a place of settlements, diasporic subjects are characterized by heterogeneity, experiencing a lack of identification with one singular space. When the homeland and the host culture are linked painfully by a history of colonialism… diaspora becomes a consequence of postcolonial anxiety. In these cases, the diasporic condition becomes a complex projection of upholding a nationalist identity and an authentic link with the past. Therefore… diaspora was constructed and experienced as a condition of pain, trauma, nostalgia and a yearning for the ‘homeland’. Professor of English Literature, Vijay Mishra sums this up ‘as a particular condition of displacement and disaggregation’ (Grehen, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46).

Author Royona Mitra summarizes opposing diasporic ideals, starting with Professor in dance, Andree Grau who supports the view above in saying that diaspora is not nostalgically but organically linked to ‘home’: ‘Diaspora and home are not separate identities and any line of division between them is artificial and thus permeable’ (2003). In tandem, Stuart Hall theorizes diaspora as a transient body of people, who reject categorization and seek articulation of identity (Rojek, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46). Homi Bhabha conceptualizes the in-betweenness of this hybrid condition to exist in the ‘third space’, which is ‘such a form of liminal or in-between space’, where the ‘cutting edge of translation and negotiation occurs’ (Meredith, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46). Bhabha sees the diaspora occupying this space harbouring dynamism and engendering ‘new possibility’ and conceptualizes the empowered liminality of the third space as ‘the space of intervention emerging in the cultural interstices that introduces creative invention into existence’. This is far from the traumatic and painful construction of the diaspora of the past, as we know it. Grehen acknowledges that this conceptual shift in the experience of diaspora ‘raises a number of important questions about the role of the subject in this process… how is the body marked or inscribed by this journeying and how does the diasporic subject inscribe him/herself within/on the landscapes s/he traverses?’. Placing the lived body at the centre of discourse, Grehen calls upon postmodern notions of embodiment and corporeality as conceptual means to analyse the role subjectivity in the articulation of diaspora (Mitra, 2009: 46).

This in-between space as referred to above is my isolation theorized, and a place where the very crack between societies is my home. I strive to dig deeper into this crack in creation of my niche.

On a more practical level, referring to the choreographic work Zero Degrees by Akram Khan, Mitra comments that by moving the diasporic experience from race (or nation) specific tropes and by working with global artists who are not bound to national or cultural borders, Khan constructs a multiplicity of identities as empowered existences in today’s global world and urges classicists and purists to reject the notions of authenticity and homogeneity and recognize them as obsolete concepts (Mitra, 2009: 47). In this fascinating production, Khan takes these very theories on diaspora and explores them through a captivating story involving intricate contemporary dance moves, dialogue, human-sized life dolls, a dual 3D stage, music and an enchanting unity of action. I was privileged to find this entire production online.

That the production Zero Degrees is on the very topic of diaspora, Mitra once again comments on Akram Khan and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui (Moroccan diasporic artist and fellow choreographer in this piece) below:

…while diasporic identity may historically have been made to feel absent from the discourse of presence, the very acknowledgement of this absence makes the dancers’ presence a significant aspect of the discourse in both temporal and spatial terms. (RM p 52)

In summary, Katrak comments as follows on the economics, resources and avenues available to the diasporic artist, in a positive light:

Change in geographical location may provide a dancer with access to different movement techniques, to new technologies of light, sound and multimedia facilities, to funding avenues and infrastructure support with the presence or absence of rasikas and sahrdayas (art appreciators with a sympathetic heart…) Relocation plays an influential role in the direction that Contemporary Indian Dancers take to explore contemporary themes like ethnicity, gender and sexuality, the environment, the use of dance as movement therapy for victims of violence, for the representation of social issues such as women’s status and oppression, for the portrayal of political realities in India like communal-based violence, or for dealing with deeply personal matters of sexuality. (Katrak, 2014: XXI)

This is indeed true. That crack wherein diasporic artists fit, seems to be in exact perfection considering what these artists have accomplished. My yearning has brought me here and now that I know my place, there are others like me, and though seemingly alone, we are all, as per the theory above, the same.

  1. Spirituality and Bharatanatyam

I have a spiritually seeking soul. This seeking has always given me answers, and even though the questions are harder to hear, and the answers bring more questions, I hope to seek for as long as my soul allows. Through performance, this seeking, I believe is vastly sped up. Through playing a character, there is a human lesson to be learnt by stepping into another’s shoes, that may not have occurred had that character not been given to you to learn that exact lesson. I believe strongly in universal laws, and therefore I believe that art is a deeply spiritual practice. To substantiate and corroborate my claim, I reference below, similar viewpoints on the spirit of the dancer.

“Many people have a common perception that dance is merely physical. In fact a dancer who has a true calling, an inherent perception beyond the physicality of her training, evolves to another level of consciousness” (Samson, 2014: 6).

For the contemporary in art to be born out of classical training, especially in a diaspora, I believe that a soul is called, from deep within, to follow, seek, and yearn for a unique form of expression. This calling is indeed an important element for contemporary art to evolve, yet the spirit cannot be boxed or guided, it has its own direction:

Categories are the bane of our existence! They lack a generosity of spirit. They are technical terms that have little to do with people. I do not wish to be called a ‘classical’ dancer if that title turns people away, if the very purpose of the dance is defeated, if it suggests an exclusivity that is not me and if it is not of the people. (Samson, 2014: 3)

The contemporary artist, I believe is a follower of freedom and expression, not seeking to challenge traditions or infringe on cultural norms. It is not that the product made is done so with the sole purpose of upsetting and unsettling classicality, but rather to honour it, by honouring their artistic journey. These yearnings have pushed immense work out of these industry leaders and they are indeed an invaluable stream of east meets west, contemporizing classicality and creating unique works of explorative, identifying work. Is this not what art is for?

Lastly on this topic, Leela Samson on her spiritual understanding of dance, refers to the Rig Veda: [18]

two birds living in the same tree. One…partakes, who tastes and enjoys the fruits of the tree. The other bird… simply watches, contemplates. The (first is)…caught in the web of life, in the varying gait of its joys and sorrows… The dancer is often seen as the (first bird), enmeshed in life, longing for completeness, yearning for something beyond the parameters of the self. I ask myself whether this is so because her art is visually set in the physical realm. During a performance the audience, and perhaps the dancer too, is compelled to ask, ‘Who is the dancer? What is the dance? Can the two be separated?’ On one level, the physical beauty of the dance and the dancer, her technical virtuosity, the grace of her gestures and the brilliance of her apparel, enrapture the viewer. But dance is also emotional, for what is life or art without feelings, and the expression of those feelings? It is a reflection not only of life, but of the culture and aesthetic of a nation, expressed through literature, song, architecture, design, colour and rhythm, as also through a strong sense of individualism. The connection between the individual ego and these elements in nature outside of the self, that are beyond rational assessment – that require perhaps an element of contemplation – has been a challenge to every artist through millennia. I believe that the arts are at one level purely personal, where the ego of the artist is present, as in a painting or in a performance. And yet art has a function in the social sphere and must reflect that at some level. (Samson, 2014: 6)

What more is there to say? I am grateful for these answers of guidance, for surely the higher power, or the spirit within knows what one needs when one needs it, and always provides.

  1. The creativity in contemporary work

In my opinion, for contemporary to flourish, a key component is for it to be ingeniously creative. Something so unique, that its signature style becomes the artists medium and language, one which renders audiences to become accustomed to not knowing what a new production might entail. This requires immense creativity not only in the movement itself, but certainly in thought, conceptualization, choreography, use of dialogue, multimedia, and definitely extends into music or sound score, props and ingenuity of space, as advocated by Katrak, “In the explosion of creative choreography by Contemporary Indian Dancers in India and the diaspora, artists engage with and transform Indian traditional dance in multiple avenues” (Katrak, 2014: XVIII). Rasa (emotions or expression in Indian dance) is interestingly analysed by Katrak from a contemporary standpoint. In the Natyashastra it remains a

psychological-physical realm of emotion and taste, and within an aesthetic-spiritual realm of transcendence ( when an aesthetic experience reaches its highest level in transporting the performer into an extra-human realm and taking the audience with him/her. In contemporary times, rasa, evoked by the self-reflexivity of contemporary artists includes both emotion and thought; the gaps in-between emotion and thought are filled by raising social awareness in certain choreographies about gender inequality, or challenging stereotypes of sexuality or nation. The artist, via rasa, leads the audience into socially located engagements that no longer only have the goal of transcendence; rather, the affect now translates into accompanying an artist’s portrayal of social ills such as domestic violence or the denial of female sexuality. (Katrak, 2014: XXI)

5.1 Advocating the importance of education in performing arts

If this calibre of creativity is to be cultivated, I believe a strong injection of drama, dance or performance training should be brought into the educational system. To develop a fully articulate artistic mind of such a creative, these classical trainings should begin at a young age which will develop the foundations needed for successful artistic practice after tertiary studies. There is a lot of interest and passion for the arts, but not much training or development at school level age, especially in the more rural areas of South Africa. On education and dance, throughout time, the arts have not really been important in education, generally speaking. Samson comments on this referencing the Indian education systems:

From the time of Gandhi[19], Tagore[20], Aurobindo[21], Vallathol[22], Vishnu Digamber Paluskar[23], Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay[24] and Rukmini Devi[25], each in his or her own way suggested that the new systems of education resulted in the de-prioritisation of the then extant indigenous systems of education – like the tols, the pathshalas, the gurukulams[26], the madrasas[27] and the monasteries in India, as also the variety of systems of transmitting knowledge, skills and technique. I quote Dr Kapila Vatsyayan on the subject:

…To integrate the rich and diverse living traditions of our cultural heritage with formal systems of education is still a dream for many of us. These stalwarts believed that unless there was equity between the creativity of the hand, the intellectual critical discriminating mind and a pulsating heart, a total human being would not be possible. (Samson, 2014: 7)

On a global scale, this is an area of education greatly needing attention. With the recent #feesmustfall debacle in South Africa, there is much upheaval within the youth of our country. Our political situation does not advocate for upgraded education systems and as a result, art always falls to the bottom of the priority list. Having worked in the capacity of research and development towards a formalised dance course at the Nelson Mandela University, under the guidance of current Dean of Arts, Professor Rose Boswell, it was indeed sad and futile to have lost a contract renewal due to there being insufficient funding after the zero fee increase of the institution for the 2017 academic year. All of the research and funding propelled into this project, I hope will not go to waste in my absence. This point highlighting the arts falling to the back of all priority lines.[28]

On another point within education and dance, Samson highlights the challenges faced by the arts fraternity when scholars versus practitioners are in question. The lasting development of intellectualism and performance art at a post-grad tertiary and scholarly level:

At a micro level, the divide between the great practitioners and the scholar/researcher remains a reality, to the detriment of good writing on the arts. The scholar and the practitioner claim to understand the art, but discover its technique and creativity rather differently. And yet both have to experience that slow burn and the relentless rigour that makes the work worthwhile either on stage or in books. The scholar does his research from the confines of a particular socio-political construct. More and more of them can be seen occupying centre stage at seminars of dance worldwide. On the other hand, the creative impulse seems to draw the best performers away from scholarship. The dancer having to explain her art is bad enough! Her having to be the guru and scholar is I think an unnecessary burden on all of us. That the dancer takes herself so seriously in these roles, as perhaps I do, is another matter – and, some would say detrimental to the dance scenario! It throws bad dancers, less-informed scholars and terrible teachers into the fray. (Samson, 2014: 8)

The challenges plaguing our fraternity are indeed macro, and to highlight them, is the start, I believe, to tackling them.

On bringing through an educative purpose via art itself, Mitra refers to the work of Khan, once again in Zero Degrees “…at the heart of Khan’s practice lies not a formalist but a content-driven approach that examines the nuances of diasporic life” (Mitra, 2009: 45). “…tradition and postmodernity can indeed be in creative dialogue in an organic and moving way (Mitra, 2009: 51). “…by not entering the mode of repetition and reproduction, by rejecting categorization of his practice within existent terminology and by accepting the open-endedness of each creative project as new and challenging and vulnerable, Khan’s embodiment of diaspora is in the process of being written, forever shifting, always in transmission (Mitra, 2009: 58-59). This highlighting the ever evolving and challenging nature of attempting social change through art.

  1. Conclusion

The views of theorists and artists of the Indian diaspora referenced in this paper form a spine from where I now wish to grow my own vertebra. Many interesting ideas have unfolded answering some of my questions, and sometimes creating more questions. This seeming confusion is the very fuel for the diasporic artist wherein a home and niche can be found.

Khan echoes this sentiment:

To bring together… diverse cultures, experiences and voices is a… reflection of what I am today, which is to be in a state of ‘confusion’: where boundaries are broken, languages of origin are left behind instead, individual experiences are pushed forward to create new boundaries (ibid.)…Khan is thus undoubtedly a product of his environment and the work he creates is a clear extension of his multi-layered, lived and learnt experience. (Mitra, 2009: 44)

How do we inculcate change into an indoctrinated art form? How can contemporary art be welcomed by a somewhat dogmatic body of traditions? Why is experimental Indian theatre seemingly taboo, especially when facing social or historically sensitive issues? Embracing change for the sake of artistic continuity seems like a logical progression for now.

Katrak offers her view below:

Traditional Indian dance is the thread that underlies the trajectory of changes; while some artists stay close to traditional idioms changing the externals such as costumes and music, others transform the traditional vocabulary from the inside, along with creatively bringing in other movement styles to make new hybrid work… Playing with tradition is effective for someone who has mastered the form and can innovate, re-conceptualize and choreograph new dance items. (Katrak, 2014: XIX)

Classical dance’s foundation is the through line for a successful diasporic Indian artist and although this taboo experimentation is challenged at times, these very challenges have pushed the diasporic artist to invent something that was not there before. T. Balasaraswati, as quoted by Ketu Katrak on the tradition of Bharatanatyam having so much depth and complexity that it allows a dancer’s “Wings (to) soar to the very skies of freedom… It is freedom through discipline, not freedom from discipline. (Katrak, 2014: XIX)

Distinguishing art is never the answer, for unity comes through the diversity of individualism, especially in previously colonized or modern multi-racial societies. There can be no lines of division amongst artists creating something to preserve classical Indian art while meshing it with their diasporic experience.

Leela Samson on the topic, “While some artists are simply typed as classical, others wish to be seen as contemporary, some declare they are neo-classical and others modern” (Samson, 2014: 3). “What was modern in 1947 was classified as classical in the 1970’s and has metamorphosed into another expression in these past decades. Can a dancer in the present not express in a classical way?” (Samson, 2014: 4). Samson continues below in reference to the Indian sub-continent:

While we celebrate our diversity, how does democracy deal with issues of difference? Is it not the same in the social, multi-lingual and multi-religious fabric of our nation as it is in the arts – that are perfect symbols of these varied cultures? Secularism rejects inequalities and celebrates diversity… Sadanand Menon questions the use of the term ‘tradition’. He says ‘tradition’ is a non-religious category in the Indian lexicon and gained currency only in the context of the Indian freedom struggle at the turn of the nineteenth century, when clichéd binaries like tradition versus modernity, change versus continuity, unity versus diversity, etc., came into play. (Samson, 2014: 4-5)

Although this view is of India itself, there is a through-line for me as an Indian diasporic artist in South Africa. Superficially, the obvious unifying factor is the Indian-ness, besides the diasporic issue, taking a deeper look; the unifying factor might simply be that we are all human and therefore more similar than we think.

Mitra’s views in reference to Khan, “That his presence in British contemporary dance has significantly challenged pre-existent frameworks and subsequently demanded the acknowledgement of a new identity for the genre is now an undeniable reality” (Mitra, 2009: 59).

As Heraclitus famously said, “Change is the only constant.” For change, artists need bravery, profound skill in their chosen art form and a spirit that seeks to revolutionize their art. If these factors serve as the fuel to create, then overcoming the challenges faced by challenging traditions and norms will be a peripheral bonus achieved from creating work. We face further obstacles in art when social, political and structural ideals clash with the upliftment, respect and belief in art having capabilities to infuse positivity and growth on society, starting with the youth. In an ever-plagued world, our soul needs impression, whether through a creative art form, or simply a creatively stimulated imagination. With more creativity amongst our society, creative leaders can plague immense social change.

  1. Bibliography

Bhabha, H. (1994). The location of culture. London: Routledge.

Brown, J. (2001). Voices of reform in South Asian theatre. New theatre quarterly, 17(1), 45-53.

Chandralekha. (1984). Reflections on new directions in indian dance. National centre for the performing arts (NCPA) quarterly journal, XIII(2), 60-64.

Grotowski, J. (1992). Towards a poor theatre. London: Michelin House.

Katrak, K. (2014). Contemporary indian dance: New creative choreography in India and the diaspora. USA: Palgrave MacMillan.

Mitra, R. (2009). Dancing embodiment, theorizing space: Exploring the ‘third space’ in Akram Khan’s Zero Degrees. In A. Lepecki & J. Joy (Eds), Planes of composition: Dance, theory, and the global (pp. 40-63). Calcutta: Seagull Books.

Samson, L. (2014). Classical Dance in Contemporary India. Social Scientist, 42(5/6), 3-18. Retrieved July 4, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24372985

Wilson, E. & Goldfarb, A. (1991). Theatre: The lively art. USA: Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data.

  1. Samson was Director of Kalakshetra (2005-2012), Indian arts academy founded by Rukmini Devi Arundale in 1936. Samson was also the Chairperson of the Central Board of Film Certification in 2011. She subsequently resigned from both these roles.
  2. Another one of the eight classical dance styles of India, stemming from North India.
  3. Thomasse-Pieterse is Principal and owner of Stageworld.
  4. This was done through Geetanjali Academy of Arts in Port Elizabeth. There was an affiliation to Vadhini School of Dance in Cape Town founded by Savitri Naidoo who opened this sister school in Port Elizabeth in 1987.
  5. I subsequently wrote two more plays in the Devadasi (2013) series, viz. Devadasi – The Prequel (2014) and A Devadasi in Love? (2017). These three plays tell different stories from the life of one particular devadasi named “Deva” in a modern interpretation.
  6. Divine Intervention (2012) is the only production of mine thus far which included other performers. It was a fusion piece combining ballet and Bharatanatyam. It wasn’t directly intentional that most of my works are one-hander’s, it just seems easier and most affordable to work this way at this stage in my career.
  7. Original temple dancer.
  8. Treatise on dance by Bharata Muni dated to between 200BCE and 200CE.
  9. More on this in Section 2 of this paper.
  10. Sarabhai as received the Padma Bhushan award which is the 3rd highest civilian award in the Republic of India. She holds a Doctorate in Organisational Behaviour and played the role of “Draupadi” in Peter Brooke’s Mahabarata amongst many other television, stage and film productions. She is also a politician.
  11. Elaborate pure mulberry silk sarees with thick borders and brightly coloured.
  12. Pure dance.
  13. Nine emotive states of Bharatanatyam include: shringara (love/beauty), hasya (laughter), karuna (sorrow), roudra (anger), veera (heroism/courage), bhayanaka (fear), bhibatsya (disgust), adbhuta (surprise/wonder), shanta (peace).
  14. Interpretive dance.
  15. Gharana refers to where a dance style comes from, ie. Kathak dance has different gharanas based on geography, ie. Lucknow gharana, Jaipur gharana and Benares gharana.
  16. A Hindu concept where above oneself in hierarchy is ones parents, then the Guru, then God. The Guru is even higher in respect and adoration than ones parents.
  17. Sacraments
  18. Once of the four sacred canonical texts of Hinduism known as the Vedas.
  19. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, known as Mahatma Gandhi (born in 1869) was leader of the Indian independence movement against British rule, a lawyer and revolutionist until he was assassinated in 1948.
  20. Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) first non-European to win a Nobel Prize for literature, author, composer of Indian National Anthem Jana Gana Mana.
  21. (1872-1950) Hindu philosopher.
  22. (1878-1958) South Indian poet.
  23. (1872-1931) Hindustani musician.
  24. (1903-1988) Indian social reformer and freedom fighter.
  25. (1904-1986) Bharatanatyam dancer, choreographer and founder of Kalakshetra, the first formalised school of Bharatanatyam since the devadasis in India.
  26. Type of residential schooling system In India where the student resides with the Guru.
  27. Arabic school.
  28. The irony lies in that alleged millions of rands was then spent to change the name of the institution from Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University to Nelson Mandela University, coupled with a complete re-branding of the institution. All this during a time of national turmoil within the tertiary education sector.

Introduction

Julia Cameron in her book The right to write: An invitation and initiation into the writing life, suggests:
We should write because it is human nature to write. Writing claims our world. It makes it directly and specifically our own. We should write because humans are spiritual beings and writing is a powerful form of prayer and meditation, connecting us both to our own insights and to a higher and deeper level of inner guidance. We should write because writing brings clarity and passion to the act of living. Writing is sensual, experiential, grounding. We should write because writing is good for the soul. We should write because writing yields us a body of work, a felt path through the world we live in. We should write, above all, because we are writers, whether we call ourselves that or not. (Cameron, 2000: back cover)
The Devadasi Trilogy is a one woman series that I wrote, as Cameron notes, as a way to connect to my “own insights” and to a “higher and deeper level of inner guidance” thereby using the art of writing as a means to explore and understand my own life, as well as the world around me (Cameron, 2000: back cover).
The Devadasi Trilogy is set in India during the period of the British Raj. The first two plays (Born in blood and A journey from the temple to the streets) were re-worked from existing plays I had written prior to formal MA studies; and the third play (A Devadasi in Love?) was written for the creative component of my MA. The trilogy seeks to explore topics related to female sexuality and how these issues are tackled through the creation of the protagonist, Deva – a devadasi living in India during the early 20th century. I will discuss the devadasi tradition in greater detail in section two of this paper. Referring to the Julia Cameron quotation above; in my writing of the Devadasi trilogy there is great emphasis on spirituality both for the protagonist of the trilogy, Deva, and for me as the writer. Many spiritual insights have been revealed to me through this reflective practice – some were conscious explorations of certain spiritual concepts and ideas which I uncovered through the writing and creation of my protagonist. Others were unconscious, or indirect, ideas I would not have necessarily explored, had it not been for my writing of the trilogy; and this paper.

Having the chance to reflect upon, unpack and explore one’s own creative process is a valuable chance to consider and analyse used stimuli, inspiration, motivation, and to help in understanding one’s own work in developing a creative voice, thereby attempting to create a niche in the global arts industry. In contrast, it is also a highly challenging task, to reflect on one’s own work, for it requires a detachment and a kept objectivity when considering your creation. For the writing of this reflective report, I asked myself the following: How do I establish a research question when reflecting on my own work? What is it that I want to say or achieve through my work? And then, to what end is my creative work fuelling an academic study?
When researching a topic for the purpose of writing about it, such as the devadasis and the British Raj; one is open to discover, to learn and to broaden personal viewpoints. Researching for an understanding of one’s own writing and its effects on the self as individual and as a writer, and then of course possible effects on the audience, has proven to be a valuable and growth stimulating exercise in that this process of practice-led research has enabled me, as the writer, to contextualise many personal lessons through the creation of this trilogy. On practice-as-research, David George notes “experience is also a form of knowledge gained as first hand, knowledge gained from praxis” (George, cited in Nelson, 2006: 110). This process of knowledge gained through reflective practice has proved immensely powerful for me as a writer, and has spurred about many interesting trains of thought which I document in this paper.
Through reference of the Devadasi Trilogy I will focus upon the main topic of how the creating of narratives is “central to the ways in which people ‘make sense of their experience and interpret the social world’” (Pickering, cited in Liddy, 2015: 601). The Devadasi Trilogy is inspired by my own life and some of my pivotal life experiences. This is also coupled with my career as a dancer, being somewhat akin to that of the devadasi, which allowed for an interesting parallel and utilisation of the richly mysterious, fascinating and sad devadasi tradition as a setting for these fictional recreations of this period in history. To create a balance, I wrote this trilogy with the dialogue being
interspersed with dance pieces which gives the trilogy its aesthetic appeal. Dance as a highly choreographed, practised and prepared art form; contrasted with the life of the protagonist and the inconsistency, learning curves, experiences and nature of the unknown inherent in living. The trilogy is not at all the actual narrative of my life portrayed in the writing, but more of an experienced understanding of some life occurrence or series of occurrences put through a fictional account, of course being dramatised for stage effect.
There can be no portrayal without understanding first. This realisation came through the process of reflection, an in-depth analysis of lessons learnt and then an analysis into how this can be morphed into a lesson or story worthy for presentation on the stage. In this paper, I focus upon the writer-character connection and how I correlated my own life experiences, as the writer, with those of Deva’s – how these conjunctions sparked my creativity and how the character’s experiences hold more importance for me as the writer as a result of this methodology, as opposed to, if I had created the character with purely fictional experiences.
In section four of this research report, I give an in-depth analysis of the three plays in order to further reveal the parallels and overlaps between the writer and the protagonist. I will further discuss narratives in relation to the following: writing as a means of understanding one’s life experiences; and writing as a means of sharing one’s understanding of experiences through a fictional account which renders play for the creation of distance between the writer and the experience, therefore giving new perspective and light to the understanding as well as being able to share them so that audiences can enjoy the benefit of these lessons learnt by the writer and hopefully learn from them too. Lawler (in Liddy, 2015: 601) has noted that “narratives circulate socially as cultural and social resources”. This quotation is relevant to my study since the devadasi tradition is vast in contrasting interpretations. I intended through the writing of this trilogy to leave audiences with a story about the devadasi tradition that will inform audiences on some general history of the tradition, as well as give them an insight into the realities of the tradition even though it is through a fictional account – that of Deva’s. In finality, I wish to account for a greater purpose for this work to reach the light of the stage – as a mechanism to channel positivity towards sexual experiences for women and in turn men by shining a light on sexuality in Indian cultural practises through the devadasi tradition. This discussed in Section 2, c of this paper – for the purpose of attempting to leave audiences with a reflective look at their own sexuality, and their views on sexuality and women.

2. The devadasi

Below, I present a historical and contextual account of the devadasis and the trilogy.

a. Context and history of the devadasi tradition

The devadasi tradition is shrouded in mystery, ambiguity, some deference and contrasting confusion. It is important to bear in mind that the tradition varies from state to state in India, considering there are eight distinct classical dance styles stemming from various geographical areas in India, as well as developing and morphing traditions which altered according to variations such as language, culture, climate, economics and certainly era.
In reference to bharata natyam, which was previously called dassiatam, Phadke alleges that the devadasi was a woman who was wedded to the main idol of the temple and dance was her path to worship. It was a familial system, whereby only those following familial lines were allowed into the performing and learning space. Teaching was usually done by males belonging to the family of the devadasi’s (Phadke, 2015, 1).
In chapter five of Ringdal’s (2004) Love for Sale, A world History of Prostitution, entitled, “Hindu Ambiguity”, he describes that the devadasis had a multi-function within the Indian society:

Young girls looked after India’s temples and pagodas; adult women coddled the Gods, much as daughters and wives did for their men at home, or as court ladies cared for the princes in their palaces. Every morning the temple girls sang and danced to honour the God; during the day they swept and cleaned, and fanned the images of the Gods so that they would not grow hot in the heat of the day. In the evening they again sang and danced for the God; they were a joy and an inspiration for earthly men who visited the temples. (Ringdal, 2004: 77)

Kersenboom describes the devadasi and her role as one which is ritualistic in nature. In comparison to the more abstract, quiescent principles associated with a (male) god, the (female) goddess is said to be creative in her ability to remove the evil eye that consumes everything:

The dynamic principle (of the female goddess) can be both destructive and protective. An excess of dynamism destroys; properly harmonized, however, it creates, nourishes and protects. A method was devised for controlling this dynamism from within: the creation of a female ritualist whose power (sakti) could be ritually merged with that of the great goddess (Sakti)… the Devadasi was such a ritualist. (Kersenboom, 2004: 136)

Similarly, following the tantric logic, De Bruin describes “the Goddess, of whom the Devadasi is a living embodiment, is the active power and source of fertility moving towards her human devotees” (De Bruin, 2007: 71). As much as her devadasi duties and way of life was for her own worship, the value of her life and power was greatly valued, utilised and needed by the community people.
Kersenboom then describes the process involved in the validation and ordination of a devadasi and this includes an initiation ceremony, involving the worship of her ankle bells1, a marriage ceremony to the chosen deity, a dedicative branding, either by tattoo or heated metal which, if it heals well, is a symbol of purity. The traditional view holds that all women, by their very nature, share in the power of the goddess.
To further reiterate the devadasi as a respected woman in society, Kersenboom (2004: 137) describes in the imagined continuum of auspiciousness (mangalam), individual women are placed at one end of the scale or the other according to their status. At the top is the married woman whose husband is alive and who has borne several children: she is called “auspicious woman” (sumangali). At the bottom of the scale is the widow for she is considered highly inauspicious. In ritual terms, however, the devadasi exceeds even the sumangali auspiciousness. Two reasons are given for this. First, her individual female powers are merged with those of the goddess. Second, she is dedicated to a divine husband who can never die. Since she can never lose her (double) auspiciousness, she is called ‘ever auspicious’ (nityasumangali).


1 This practice differs from school to school – in my own experience and training: A dancer ceremoniously takes blessings from her ankle bells each time before she wears them to dance. There is also an initiation ceremony at the start of a dancer’s career where the teacher or Guru blesses the dancer’s bells, ties them around her ankles, and then the dancer stamps on rice which senior dance students assist her in balancing on, while she does so.

According to De Bruin, the devadasi system in North Tamil Nadu even pervaded the caste system and occurred at all levels of society,

However, it seems to have been practised on a larger scale by persons at the middle and higher, economically viable, strata of the rural society, perhaps because the custom and its patronage required financial input in the form of training expenses and the upkeep of the devadasi women. (De Bruin, 2007: 57)

De Bruin supports Kersenboom, by sharing her research gained from first-hand experience of devadasi, Tirumati M. Dhanammal:

Rural devadasis appear to have been instrumental in activating, representing, and containing dangerous sacred power, which accompanies the increased presence of the Goddess. They did so through their handling of ritual and dramatic services and through their own ‘presence’ or ‘being’ in the form of their life-long state as women dedicated to and merged with the Goddess. (De Bruin, 2007: 60)

According to De Bruin, the performance practices of devadasis indicates that they in fact were living substitutes or fragments of the Goddess. One of the last practicing devadasis who gave up her profession in 1973 due to family pressures, “Dhanammal described herself as ‘belonging to the Goddess’, as ‘an integral part of the Goddess’, ‘serving the Goddess’, and ‘being in bondage to the Goddess’” (De Bruin, 2007: 69).

“Her (Dhanammal’s) biography also testifies to the fact that modern society failed to provide a category for devadasi women who, through their alliances with their patrons, defied the caste system and the idealized picture of the Hindu domestic woman” (De Bruin. 2007: 54).

Social circumstance – that is British colonialism, affected the devadasi and her standing in the community. Many devadasis were shunned into prostitution. The colonialists usurped the kingdoms and polluted the temple systems. These women who were noted for their wisdom and personal freedom did not seem to have the choice of whether or not to then enter into prostitution. If they did choose prostitution, perhaps this was due to extreme desperation or enforcement on the part of corrupt officials. Some or even the majority did fall prey to prostitution for whatever reason as a last resort, how and why they were all subjugated into such a broad category socially and historically is unknown. Is it because they were women? Or is it because they were dancers? Perhaps, because they were both? I cannot see this being very far removed from modern times. De Bruin supports this theory and this investigation:

While the ‘sexual content’ of the devadasi tradition, and the way it reacted to the impact of modernity, needs further investigation, the equation of the devadasi with a prostitute is clearly an oversimplification and an inadequate explanation of the stigma that came to be attached to her person and her profession. Her stigmatization not only disqualified the devadasi from full social acceptance, it also made her reluctant to let her female relatives enter into the same profession and adopt her lifestyle. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)
The above research, which was explored in greater depth in a paper I wrote in the first year of my MA on the devadasis and their sexuality, influenced my need to tackle, or at least expose the topics of colonialism, sexuality, patriarchy and the subjugation of devadasis under the umbrella of prostitution.

b. Introducing The Devadasi Trilogy

The eight classical Indian dance styles are powerful art forms, steeped in religious, spiritual and cultural content. Indian performing arts; including dance, music and drama; was codified in a most beautiful way by Lord Brahma (the Divine creator), in the Natya Sastra.2 Indian classical dance is practised the world over in an attempt to share visually with audiences and societies the mythological and deistical stories which revolve vastly around bhakti (devotion) and reverence of the various Gods and demi-Gods, who form a large part of the Hindu way of life.
Having studied bharata natyam3 and a bit of khathak4 dance, some ballet5 and aspects of African contemporary dance6 it is my passion to merge Indian dance, mythology and deistical stories with


2 Ancient North Indian Sanskrit text written by Bharata Muni in 200AD – a complete treatise on the dramatic arts.
3 A classical dance style originating from Tamil Nadu in the south of India.
4 A classical dance style originating from the north of India – there are three specific origins and styles or gharanas of khathak dance: Lucknow, Banares and Jaipur.
5 I hold a Grade 5 cecchetti ballet certificate (2014).
6 Learnt through workshop and dance exchange through rehearsal and preparation of a dance production entitled Bhakti (2014-Lliane Loots of Flatfoot Dance Company and Playhouse Dance Residency, Durban). I explain how my experience through Bhakti of African contemporary dance influenced me and my style as a western theatre styles using English dialogue and deviating from traditional Indian theatre ideals as codified in the Natya Sastra. I am a diasporic Indian artist and I found myself faced with the following question: How do I invoke my passion in beginning to establish my own creative voice worthy of an audience and one which encompasses my identity as an Indian, born and bred amongst the ‘rainbow of cultures’ in South Africa?
Being an avid fan and follower of the work of contemporary Indian artists and artists of the Indian diaspora, such as Akram Khan, Shobana Jeyasingh, Jay Pather, Anita Ratnam, Mallika Sarabhai and others, as well as meeting Professor Ketu Katrak and reading her book Contemporary Indian dance: New creative choreography in India and the diaspora (2014), I wrote a paper7 on the topic of the diasporic Indian artist which revealed to me the phenomenon of such artists having a yearning to belong and identify with the Indian in their appearance and cultural upbringing; coupled with their social and western geographical realities. The Indian subcontinent, with its vast history of colonialism, has inadvertently created a diasporic artist that strives to tackle issues such as patriarchy, sexuality, the Indian woman and her suppression, societal and cultural subjugations and general abuse placed on people of the Indian culture by themselves, and by fellow Indians.
One such exponent of contemporary Indian performance style, Savitha Sastry8, speaks of how her classical performances were not appreciated by audiences – mostly because the style has somewhat become inaccessible to the modern audience understanding.9 This fuelled her to create something closer to audiences which the layman could identify with. Her impressive body of work tackles issues of identity, war, duty (dharma), etc. She has thus reduced narrative to create stories which are not


dancer and artist in a research paper I wrote for a Trinity College of London Licentiate qualification (2015). A copy viewable on my website: https://aartinarotam.com/academic-writing/
7 An electronic version of my paper viewable on my website: https://aartinarotam.com/academic-writing/
8 Some of her work viewable on her website: www.savithasastry.com
9 Viewable via the following links are three videos (reflectively produced) in a series of interviews, clips and audience feedback on Savitha Sastry’s performance of her production Elysian Pursuits: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAqlNL2y5x0 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8dk9oTzIGg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLeapuFB1NA


deistical necessarily, but human. These same longings for identity and personal placement are what I now recognise as my experience too, since uncovering this research.
Some of the broad topics addressed or at least touched upon directly or indirectly in the trilogy include colonialism (British Raj), sexuality, the woman and her subjugation, patriarchy, social and cultural influences as well as of course, in particular, the devadasi tradition and its effect on Indian dance and these women priestesses who first practised Indian classical dance. On the Indian female protagonist in novels, Sonal Patil alleges:

In the galaxy of Indian fiction the contribution of women novelists has been of paramount significance. In the majority of the novels, we come across the miserable plight of Indian women. She has been suppressed, oppressed, depressed and exploited in the male dominating society or to say in the patriarchal setup. (Patil, 2017: 817)

This is an exact replication of what Deva has gone through and as a result, I started to explore more in depth issues that Deva, as a female protagonist, has to face. I also attempted to explore issues that all women and even men can relate to.
With the exploration of an Indian diasporic contemporary take on my art as my newfound artistic identity, I, by chance, witnessed a documentary on the SABC TV programme 3rd Degree entitled The Price of Innocence.10 This documentary uncovered stories of girls in Nepal who were drugged by people who offered the parents of these minor girls jobs in India as a chance for a better life for their daughters. Nepal, being an extremely poor state, these abductors most likely expertly preyed upon the desperation of the people. This being a reality in our very modern and so-thought liberated and free world, the documentary also goes on to show police raids, and how corruption and underhanded dealings with police lands these girls right back in the brothels in some instances.
Seeing this documentary inadvertently struck a chord within my artist to create a story, to expose this and thereby attempt to inform and educate people on the phenomenon of Indian girls in the brothels of India as being prevalent and practised today. Being a classical Indian dancer,


10 Clips from the documentary can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMkX9eHkK1U


I immediately linked this in my mind to the devadasi tradition. Indian classical dance originated in the temples of India. Devadasi’s were women who were referred to as slaves of God for the purpose of cleaning, maintaining and upkeep of temple grounds, observing prayer and ritual in the temples and dancing various deistical invocatory dances in devotion to various Hindu Gods and Goddesses (Jacobsen, 2013: 715).
According to De Bruin (2007), the devadasi served God and the community in exchange for a high stand in society, financial support from the surrounding kingdoms and reverence as a human as she would take on the form of a Goddess in order to bless those around her through ritual or at various religious and community festivals and events (De Bruin, 2007: 55).
Through dance, the devadasi was able to infuse the Goddess to whom she was dedicated with her own awakened personality to become spiritually charged which was enjoyed by the deity and then by the devadasi who then receives “blessing power” (Lidke, 2015: 8).
It is unknown whether through the usurping of many communities in India by the British Raj, or by the Hindu Brahmin priests who were somewhat jealous of the devadasi and her power, devadasis lost their standing and influence and were stripped of their holy stature. They were shunned from society with nowhere to turn and as such some of them seemed to have resorted to prostitution and over time, having the new status of ‘untouchable’ attached to the once holy tradition. As a result, the entire tradition lost its stance. I envision many devadasis, especially younger ones must have had some sort of force upon them to enter into prostitution, taking all of the above into consideration. In this manner, I linked the documentary of girls in Nepal having no choice in their destiny to the devadasis and I thus felt a dual responsibility not only towards the devadasi tradition as the setting for my trilogy, but as a modern interpretation which is also shedding a light on the occurrence of young girls being shunned into prostitution even today.
For some reason, I am completely consumed by the mystery of the devadasi tradition; it seems to stir so much within me. There is a part of me that resonates deeply and sensitively with the devadasis, making me inclined to believe I was one of them in a past life. I took this fascination a step further and decided to investigate the devadasi tradition. Based on this research, I wrote a play called, Devadasi – A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets (2013)11 in an attempt to share with audiences just one hour out of the life of a devadasi named Deva.12
The play seemed to be making an impact on audiences and the reason for this, I believe, is that the somewhat taboo subject-matter of prostitution and the entire devadasi tradition, which is inadvertently concealed from general public knowledge, seemed to have stirred within the audience a sense of being robbed of the truth about the devadasis. This play attempts to remove some of the mystery. My work suddenly became more important to me than I initially ever could have imagined.
I subsequently then wrote Devadasi – The Prequel (2015)13 as well as a sequel to the original, called A Devadasi in love? (2017)14. It is my goal to write more plays in this series in years to come. But for now, this trilogy is based on the life of Deva, a temple devadasi who shares with the audience her intimate thoughts during pivotal times in her life, including how she lands up in a brothel and her experiences there. The plays contain spoken dialogue, dance, music and song – both English and Indian and, like modern style western musicals, the music, song and dance pieces forward the plot. I wanted to expose the reality of what some of the devadasis might have gone through during the British Raj. My interpretation is but a fictional account of one devadasi and her experience.


11 This was the first play I wrote, but subsequently became the 2nd play within the trilogy.
12 I toured the country with this production and performed it 14 times including performances in Mauritius (Indira Gandhi Centre for Indian Culture); at the WITS Theatre and Lenasia Soccer Stadium in Johannesburg; at the Joseph Stone Theatre in Cape Town; two performances at the Port Elizabeth Opera House Barn; at the Arts Theatre in East London; at the Ikwezi Lokuba Hall in Mthatha; at the Hindu Seva Samaj community hall in Ladysmith and five renditions at the Grahamstown National Arts Festival12. I also received a review in the Sunday Times Extra12 titled No dry eyes as dancer tells sad tale. The review was written by Doreen Premdev and she described the show as, “moving and enlightening”, “Narotam is a new kid on the block but is going to make her mark”, “Aarti Narotam told a beautiful and poignant story”.
13 This play was performed twice over two nights at the PE Opera House Hub as part of the Iphulo Arts Festial (2015). This is the first play in the series, completely re-worked and re-titled as Born in blood.
14 This play has not yet been performed – it was written as part of my creative submission during year 2 of my MA.


The dialogue style I used is one which is very simplistic with a narrative feel. I wanted to bring the character of Deva right down to earth, in quite sharp contrast with the music and dance and even aspects of the costume which lean slightly towards an idealistic Indian performance style which I in essence, deviate from. The dialogue has no airs or flairs, and there are intentional ambiguities in reference to action. In A Devadasi in Love?, for example, I have created a purposeful dual ending in that the audience is left wondering if Deva in fact kills herself or if she kills her love interest/antagonist Azamat and also, whether the entire character of Azamat is in fact a figment of Deva’s imagination, this being possible due to Azamat being a character the audience never sees, but only hears through dramatic devices including off-stage action and voiceovers. The dialogue itself is very close to how every day, contemporary people might speak. This purposeful dichotomy is very different from what I have previously seen portrayed by Indian contemporary artists, where in this trilogy, there is a single character approach, influenced by my western theatre studies, as opposed to the approach where one performer morphs between characters within the dramatic action which is very prevalent in Indian classical dance, for example. This vast deviation from traditional Indian styles had proved to be very interesting for me to explore through the writing of this trilogy.
In my training and understanding as a bharata natyam exponent, a dancer is dancing as herself, showcasing herself and showcasing renditions of various deistical and religious stories through her own eyes. Having created one character with multiple thought processes, that of Deva’s – I placed importance on her unique experiences and interpretations as well as giving her her own manner of speaking and a set of ever-morphing personality traits. This was one of my main focuses in the creation of Deva’s character in this trilogy. Also, creating a character who is known as ‘untouchable’ – a person of low caste and not generally considered important enough to be put on stage – was a choice I made which deviates from general Indian performance styles which usually portray Gods and demi-Gods or Kings and people with power and privilege as protagonists.

Each play represents a specific time period in Deva’s life. Each play also reflects her growth or her personal changes both in between the plays as well as in each play itself. This is a definite western-based focus for which I kept as a main style in my writing of this trilogy.
In my experience of learning, practising and performing the dance style of bharata natyam, it always holds a large focus on the aesthetic appeal of the art form. If I have been gifted the opportunity of performing a bharata natyam repertoire, I do thoroughly enjoy the process of getting dressed up and it is almost a sort of ritual involving an immaculate eight piece costume, with false hair, jewellery and make up which takes in excess of two hours to put on. This ritual of sorts, has in the past helped me to prepare mentally for the performance ahead which is usually extremely strenuous, spiritual and religious in content. Besides the physical performance, a lot of emotional preparation is always needed and the rehearsal process is one that can break you down before you again build up the stamina and prowess to do the performance. I could probably count on two hands the number of times I have done such a performance in the fifteen or so years since my arangetram15 in 2003. This is because, in my experience, audiences seldom support this type of performance due to its content which the layman does not understand. Due to its aesthetics it can be appreciated – an audience can see the dedication and commitment a dancer puts into this sort of performance and appreciates it on this basis – but mostly, this is potentially all that the audience might take from such a performance. Of course there are outlets and a definite need for classical bharata natyam renditions, especially in places where there are large Indian classical dance communities who strive to pass this art form on. However, for general audience engagement, this type of performance has not proved ideal for me.
The experience of putting all of that time and effort into a performance, without being able to reach audiences, created a thirst in me to delve into other realms of performance. After exposing myself to western theatre, I developed an interest to delve into cross-culture and interculturalism in my


15 Bharata natyam graduation ceremony which culminates in a two hour performance usually performed with live music. My arangetram took place at the Port Elizabeth Opera House in July 2003.


performance style. I wanted to stick to my strengths, though, and my identity is inherently Indian as is my knowledge base and formal dance training. But how could I make my work more accessible to audiences? After graduating, I spent about seven years performing at corporate events mostly. During this time, I explored the sect of Bollywood performance which had, and still has, great mass appeal and appreciation. The music is upbeat, the feelings portrayed and felt by audiences are happy and there is a general ‘good feel’ about this type of performance. The enjoyment of audiences when I would perform Bollywood pieces rendered me more satisfied than the disengagement with audiences I experienced when I would perform bharata natyam and I began to start basing my performances on what audiences desired to see. Interestingly, my accessibility as an artist multiplied ten-fold. This also inadvertently created a shunning by, from my dance school and teachers who strongly disapproved of any associations with performances based on audience appeal.
After returning from India and studying at Stageworld16, I felt the need to take my subject matter to a new level and hence my exploring of dance drama. I wanted to expose Indian stories, the same stories portrayed in bharata natyam but in a way that brought these stories closer to audiences. I strived to shatter the inaccessibility of the scriptures inherent in bharata natyam and bring them across in an easy to understand manner. I stepped away from the classical style that has been followed for generations, and my focus deviated from exposing bharata natyam, to wanting to reach the hearts of audience members in order to give them something to leave my performances with. I stepped away from the mould of being a bharata natyam exponent to create my own way of performing my own stories. I deviated also from the costume style and I took bharata natyam dance pieces and utilised their content to forward the plot. In this manner, the bharata natyam item had value for Deva and her story, the mood of the item became clearer and audiences could appreciate the classical aspect because it was presented in a manageable bout which they could piece together


16 A private performing arts college in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, where I completed my Diploma in Performing Arts (2012). Via its affiliation, I obtained my Trinity College of London Licentiate in Performing Arts (2015). I also subsequently lectured at this college on an ad-hoc basis for five years – History of theatre 1 & 2, Drama 1, Textual Analysis 1.


in a manner that they maybe had not been exposed to before. All of a sudden there was a channel of accessibility to bharata natyam for the audience, for myself and mostly for Deva through her story.
Generally speaking, the religious and spiritual content of bharata natyam also seems to focus on a sometimes idealistic view of the stories – the body position of bharata natyam is unnatural and so how do these stylistic devices successfully portray a real story? I deviated in this manner too, whereby I took real modern life understandings and attempted to tackle them in the trilogy. Where is the challenge for social change or at least an effect on people in a bharata natyam rendition? I found myself asking this question. And how do I implore this thinking in my writing? There sometimes seems to be a very heavy unspoken reality behind the existence of women, and in my particular case, Indian woman. These taboo topics do not generally get to see the light of stage. I wanted to change this, challenge this, and tackle a topic which I had not seen been tackled before on stage – that of the devadasis.

 

c. Indian female representation and sexuality

The British Rule in India brought about a structural change in the devadasi system, from that mentioned above of being a familial system to a strong lack of royal patronage which reduced a number of the devadasis to prostitution in order for them to fend for themselves. Dance thus became taboo in society due to the ambiguous identity of the devadasis who was a dancer, and on some levels, a courtesan (Phadke, 2015: 1).
Kersenboom highlights that “European sources (both travelogues and missionary reports) usually depict devadasis as ‘sacred courtesans’ who excel in the various performing arts (including the art of love)” (Kersenboom-Story, cited by Kersenboom, 2004: 135).

Lewis notes, “The role of ‘dancer as courtesan’ is mentioned as early as 300BC in a text by Kautilya” (Lewis, 2012: 19).17 This was not only women, but also self-castrated eunuchs who were found around the temples of the goddesses (Ringdal, 2004: 78).
There seems to be a definite link between a devadasi and a woman who is (sexually) liberated. Whether this was a modern day promiscuous woman, one that is not afraid to revel in her femininity, one who liberates herself sexually, whether this was a court dancer who was popular and therefore rewarded financially by the nobility for her talent as a dancer, or mere prostitution. Though as there is a distinction today, the 300 different categorical terms18 used to denounce a ‘desirable woman’ as described in the Kama Sutra19, there surely was a deep understanding of the variations in the human psyche relating to sexuality in general and the devadasi or the divine dancer’s sexuality in particular.
Moving to today’s times, and in my experience, an Indian woman’s sexuality still seems a very contented issue. There are immense untapped mental and physical issues facing women regarding sexuality, and more particular minor girls, without education on healthy sexual practices, sexual illnesses also plague our societies. As a method of tackling this head on, in a sense, the devadasi and her sexuality, I believe, is the perfect outlet. She was a liberated woman, and her power is hers. I believe in the need for women to have this power today, and via the writing of this trilogy, I hope to stimulate that.


17 “Kautilya was the first political philosopher in Indian History… Arthasastra… describes social and economic conditions…” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
18 Vatsyana describes different types of prostitutes as follows: a learned luxury prostitute trained in the 64 arts alluded to in the Kama Sutra is a ganika, a temple prostitute is a devadasi, a cheap sex worker tempting men with her dress was a vecya, and one who ran after men was a pumscali. For example, Ganikas “were adept at reading and writing and of course could sing and dance. The ganikas could carry royal parasols and fans, wear gold jewellery and beautiful dresses… (their) services were legally recognized; they could hold money and possess land and slaves” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
19 Ancient vedic text written by Vatsyana wherein love, relationships and sexual encounters are codified as a means to overcoming by understanding one’s own physical desires.


3. Reflecting on the methodology of writing

With my research under way, and my views on the sexuality of the devadasi clearer in my mind, I began my process of writing. I will now unpack my methodology surrounding the creation of my narratives as well as the writer-character connection prevalent in the trilogy.
The plays were written to be performed by me – this rendering me the writer as performer. This influenced the scripts and the style in which I wrote, my own shortcomings and strengths as a performer had to be taken into account as I wrote the script. I had to make sure that the various ages of Deva would be able to be played by me as an adult. I also had to utilise music pieces for choreography which would suit my style of dancing. All of these considerations in fact made the writing flow much better in that I knew very well what I as performer would be comfortable and able to portray and accomplish on stage. Writing for myself as performer proved to be a good experience of personal consultation. However, in contrast, it also proved to be an isolating experience at times as the lack of an objective eye for writing made some of the details sketchy to fill in. I knew what the story would entail, plot-wise, but writing the narrative to bring that story to life without over-emphasising subtext in my writing style as opposed to trusting my audience became a huge challenge. As Toscan notes in his Playwriting Seminars 2.0, “Best Practice: No subtext, no meaningful conflict, no play” (Toscan, 2011: 86). In my re-working of the first two plays and my writing of the third, I made a conscious effort to be aware of creating a healthy layer of subtext which would render Deva more human with complexities reaching beyond those portrayed by her dialogue and stage actions.
I seem to have written in a manner that takes a conscious cognisance of the fact that I am writing for myself to perform. The script in and of itself could certainly be performed by another actor, but there are components of the script which limits versatility in terms of being published for others to perform, that is, the dance component mostly. I feel like my work as performed by me, is in essence a complete representation of what I as the writer envision.
I found that writing based on a historical phenomenon such as that of the devadasi was greatly fuelled by research. Of course, this is key for any writing based on a historical period, but what I found challenging was sifting through the vastness of information about the devadasi traditions, as evidenced by the limited and often contrasting information provided above. The more I researched, at times, the more conflicting some of the information became. I then saw the reason why, for example, leading researcher on the devadasis, Dr Saskia Kersenboom in her later work started focusing on individual devadasis and their encounters as her general research methodology. This also then fuelled my decision to draw from my own imaginative experience of Deva in my creation of her. The trilogy is based on the life of one devadasi and her experiences. In no way, can any single depiction of a devadasi, such as that of Deva’s, speak for all devadasis.
At this point is when I uncovered my first research focus; I felt the need to give my protagonist her own experiences, based on my own experiences as a methodology, myself having encountered sexual abuse as a child, and into adulthood, some bad experiences with men. This birthed a most interesting source for Deva’s experiences because they were real for me, and as a result, the experiences I was giving Deva were full of life and lessons. They had a definite start, middle and end. The character grew as a result of her experiences and there are definite spurts of growth and/or changes within Deva. If the experiences did not fuel some sort of change or growth for the character, they would be futile to put on stage. These real experiences from which I drew, also allowed a creative expansion for Deva’s experiences – for dramatic purposes, Deva’s character and her historical backdrop made it possible to expand on the experiences and their effect on her personal journey. It became fascinating to parallel my own personal experiences as the writer with those of my protagonist. It brought her to life for me. It made me respect my protagonist and it helped me understand her.
A big influence on my writing style of the trilogy is the neoclassical ideal of verisimilitude derived by the Renaissance Italians whose verisimilitude was influenced by components of theory from Aristotle and Horace, meaning that drama should be “true to life” (Wilson and Goldfarb, 1991: 212). I felt it important to also keep the trilogy, especially the first two plays, in this style of portraying just a ‘slice of the life’ of Deva during a pivotal time of her life. I realised that a time frame need not exceed an hour in ‘real time’ for the character to learn something, to grow, or to have a telling experience. This made Deva as a protagonist unique in that this one woman rendition was stark and raw. This also was done on purpose to avoid unnecessary aesthetics for the stage, that is, Deva does not change costume in the first two plays, which are both intensive in plot structure. Showing a ‘slice of life’ of one character is also not a common style for Indian classical performances and I also attempted to create a linear narrative which shows periods in time, in the life of one character. Traditional bharata natyam repertoires do not necessarily hold any linear linkage in the entire performance. Each piece is separate and many different unrelated stories could be shared in one performance. For these reasons, I have used the general style of a western musical as dance and music pieces are plot forwarding mechanisms in the trilogy.
Generally, classical bharata natyam recitations have a strong reliance on aesthetic appeal. Mostly, audiences cannot engage with the highly stylised classicality of the dance style and its numerous intricacies. Also, the stories are mythologically based with very idealistic portrayals which many modern audiences struggle to relate to. For these reasons, the aesthetic-appeal and focus for bharata natyam recitals become necessary; to engage the audience. The costumes are very elaborate and staging and stage décor has become a big focus in classical renditions. There is also no necessary through-line in a traditional bharata natyam margam20 – but rather a series of dance items presented in a particular order, sometimes all following the same deity, sometimes portraying various deities.21


20 Repertoire.
21 The items usually follow a structure: pushpanjali (invocatory dance); alarippu (pure dance or nritta done for the purpose of warming up the body); jatiswaram (fast paced, intricate nritta piece); sabdam (story telling or natya piece interspersed with nritta pieces); varnam (considered a crowning piece in a repertoire – this item is usually thirty to forty five minutes in length involving a dancer as devotee talking directly to the deity she is portraying, interspersed with nritta rigorous pieces); there is usually a musical interlude at this time,


I deviated from the style of verisimilitude in the writing of the third play, however. The nature of Deva’s experiences in this play required a more extensive dramatic approach to the writing which allowed for various scenes to be set in different locales set over a longer time period with costume changes. This play was written for the MA, and not solely for the purpose of being put on stage. I therefore challenged myself to think outside of the box, and write without necessarily considering budgeting or stage implications, practicalities or limitations. This was interesting for me to explore and this broadened my perspective. Even though the writing style of A devadasi in love? deviates from my usual style in the abovementioned manners, I can still realistically put this play on stage. This was very liberating for me, as writing in this un-guarded manner made me realise that more creativity and greater dramatic prowess can be achieved with a limited budget and in a one-woman setting. For me as a writer, this is a valuable realisation.
After writing A devadasi in love? I then also started to question certain things. A big topic that prevailed is why I, a woman, and more so in my experience, an Indian woman, seem to hold idealistic views of love. I realised that my somewhat tunnelled and heavily shielded upbringing, voided me of many experiences a woman should have going through relationships as one grows up. I was not allowed to engage with males unless my brother was around and I felt wrong or bad if I felt attraction or interest in a male, even from the Indian community, let alone from the broader communities where I was schooled. I was not even allowed to spend time outside of school with girlfriends, which rendered me quite a recluse in high school. I was brought up to believe that a woman should only engage with one man, her husband, and that any interest in the opposite sex is not only not allowed, but heavily punishable. My surprises were immense when I entered the ‘real world’ as an adult and started experiencing dating on my own – even though still under-cover of


performed by the live musicians as the dancer changes costume; the second half contains bhajan (devotional dance); ashtapati (a purely natya piece where the dancer takes on characters to tell a deistical story); javali (usually an energetic piece using nritya which is pure dance and interpretative passages); tillana (this is a highly energetic culmination of the repertoire which shows all aspects of the dancers body in isolation before merging them); mangalam (finale and prayer). The structure is very precise and each piece described above also has a very particular structure.


concealment from my parents. This engagement with relationships, coupled with my idealistic views on love, brought me many experiences that inspired Deva’s in this play. I believe that sharing a rendition of seeming perfection in a man, can spur about a lot of exploration in terms of how in Indian communities patriarchy is enforced upon women. I then also linked this to Deva in her comparing a man (Azamat) to God, her original husband. This interesting parallel for Deva, and women in general, places a heavy reliance on female expectation for a man to behave and bring a ‘certain something’ to a woman’s life, which was not there before. Of course, this can be true; however, surely the female brings the same power to the man in equal manner? These interesting parallels with the devadasi tradition and modern day ideals, makes this setting more prevalent than ever. There was a time where these women were considered Goddesses, and I hoped to, in my writing, somewhat uplift women through this trilogy and remind them that they can view themselves as such today.

4. Detailed analysis of the trilogy

Below, I present an analysis of the trilogy in relation to my research focus. Included are references to my research, personal inspirations and motivations, the character and how her personality moulds as a result of her experiences and how the circumstances of Deva’s life took form within the script. I refer to my thought processes and make reference to ideas I wished to explore through some of Deva’s experiences.

a. Born in blood

In this play, Deva is a fifteen year old devadasi. The play is set in 1911 in a temple in India, though the play is written as a modern interpretation. In the re-working of this play, I added many experiences that were not originally part of the script, including a re-working of the title. I felt the original title – that of Devadasi-the prequel, lacked dramatic appeal and although the story was important, in the telling of how Deva initially got kidnapped from the temple by British soldiers and found herself in a brothel, there was not much of the character’s voice present in the writing. I wanted to give her more lived experience and expand on her dimensions. I needed to introduce her to audiences in the re-working, and this became a means for me to shift the focus from merely the historical setting of the scene, back to Deva, and this entire experience through her eyes. It was my intention to strongly focus on giving Deva a lived experience as opposed to a narrated one. This is when I began some general research on the female protagonist. This revealed many interesting trains of thought, and fuelled my desire to explore many ideas.
The first experience was that of menstruation as a means for a girl to become a woman. I, myself, had never actually realised before, that a woman is literally born in blood, that is, a girl becomes a woman after her first period. This interesting and somewhat dark reality inspired me to let Deva have this experience as the audience’s introduction to her, and to hopefully result in an interesting culmination for the audience in reflection of the title. For Deva, bleeding not only means she is a woman, but she is now ready for formal initiation into the devadasi tradition via her marriage to the deity and her ceremonial sitting on the Shivalingum which Ringdal (2004: 79) describes as a “symbolic phallus” used as a representation of Shiva for worship purposes. To what extent this practise of initiation was practised historically is not known, but research on the devadasi’s initiation in some temples when girls are between the ages ten and twelve revealed the following:

They lost their maidenhood and became symbolically married to a tree, a knife, or a sword. In the Shiva temples, even the breaking of the hymen was ritualized, with Shiva worshipped in the form of a symbolic phallus, upon which the girls were ordered to take a seat. Before recorded history and in its earliest sources, most temple girls and Indian prostitutes generally were linked to the fertility cults of the maternal or love goddess. (Ringdal, 2004: 79)

I found this so disturbing and immensely rich in dramatic potential that I had to give Deva this experience in this play. This was also fuelled greatly by explorative free-writing. In the first part of the play I tackle the issue of menstruation and how this passageway into womanhood is not necessarily so beautiful and proud for the experiencer, but likely more so for the people around her. When in fact, in my own experience as well as generally speaking, many girls at the time of their first period feel scared, dirty, and in many societies, girls are not even prepared for this and are surprised by the occurrence, believing sometimes that something is wrong with them. In my experience, menstruation was briefly mentioned to me, but I was not told what it meant for the body, or why it occurred physiologically. I felt a need to draw a strong personal parallel with Deva in this instance as those feelings of fear and self-dread that I felt upon menstruating for the first time are very real in female adolescence and the way in which mothers or guardians handle the situation is crucial to how a girl becoming a woman deals with her first experience of womanhood.
In relation to my research question on understanding my experiences through Deva, this spurred about a train of thought that extended right into my adulthood on the issue of menstruation and on the very fabric of my identity as a woman. Also, in Indian culture and some Indian households in the community I grew up in, going to temple or observing certain religious days are forbidden if a woman is menstruating. I failed to locate any formal research on this, but it fuelled me in creating a stark contrast for Deva in that her very residence in the temple sanctifies her menstruation and gives it an honourable feel. This also contrasts with how she actually feels about the occurrence; not very honourable. It is revealed in the script through a time shift, and by the following dialogue as quoted from the script, “I want to go back to yesterday, even though I wished for today when it was yesterday”.
It is a very real price to pay for being a woman, and although this fact is known by men, do men actually realise or remember that a woman bleeds every month for a period of about five to seven days from the part of her body he (heterosexual males) most likely engages with? How does he think that might feel? Why does this happen, spiritually speaking? These questions arose in me as a result of giving Deva this experience in this play, and she poses some of these ideas to the audience. My hope is that men who view this play think about menstruation after watching Deva’s experience and hereby I believe I challenge, or at least shine a light on an aspect of sexism and patriarchy. Many women downplay their own power thereby allowing themselves to be subservient through feeling disgusting and dirty when menstruation occurs, when in fact it is a natural phenomenon that should be celebrated and honoured by us as women, and maybe then men can in turn also honour it. I hope the effect of celebrating Deva’s menstruation spurs this. I also hope that women who see this play take a more conscious cognisance of their own experiences of and thoughts about menstruation. Author Ekhart Tolle, in his book The Power of Now (1999), refers to the menstruation of women as a time when the collective psyche of women is in pain. She bleeds for the world, he says, as a result of “pain accumulated in the collective human psyche over thousands of years through disease, torture, war, murder, cruelty, madness, and so on” (Tolle, 1999: 138). She pains herself (by bleeding) as a sacrificial act of cleansing the earth of pain. This is so interesting, and spiritually speaking, so deep as a topic to explore. I hope audiences find this interesting too, and my hope is that they leave the play talking about it, and if not that, at least thinking about it. All of this of course, being besides the factual physiology of menstruation as being a natural process of the body for the purpose of cleansing before preparing itself for fertilization.
As Deva menstruates for the first time, this occurrence spurs about, by the older devadasis, immediate preparation for Deva’s marriage. This is portrayed very idealistically, by song, dance, music, wedding outfits and general happiness. It is my hope for audience members at this point not to expect, or realise the nature of Deva’s wedding that is about to happen. There is a shivalingum on stage, but the audience does not, of course, know that this prop will have the significance it will have, later on. The shivalingum is a phallus shaped object, but some schools of thought believe that it is not in fact a representation of the phallus and its associated generative powers. But if it is not meant to be as such, then why is it in this shape? Throughout my life, I have grown up seeing this object in the temple and I have partaken in rituals of cleansing this object, particularly on the auspicious celebration of Shivaratri or Day of Shiva22. Being accustomed to it through my culture and religion, I never looked at it as anything other than a shivalingum. Only upon coming across the above-quoted research whereby a devadasi sits on it for initiation, did I actually notice the shape, for the first time. On the auspicious day of Shivaratri, the shivalingum is bathed with milk and water, adorned with flowers and marked with traditional coloured powders. Growing up, we did not question this and other practises but rather, simply followed suit of the priest and our elders and parents. Making sense of the shape of this object was a huge realisation for me as the writer, personally. Having somewhat estranged sexual experiences throughout my life, coupled with no formal or informal direct mention of sex, until high school, I am very astounded by this knowledge revealed to me through Deva.
The divinity of masculine and feminine sexual union in Indian texts such as the Kama Sutra and depicted in many temple carvings in India, was also only uncovered for myself for the first time


22 The God of dance and also the divine destroyer.


through my research of the devadasis. Ringdal (2004) quotes a piece of translated prose text contained in the ancient writings of India which was likely written in Old Indian, Sanskrit or Vedic:

The womb of woman is an altar,
Her nether hair is sacred grass,
Her skin the cup of her body’s sacred dram,
The lips of her sex, the fire that consumeth all. (Ringdal, 2004: 69)

Ringdal (2004) further iterates how Shiva was the protector of prostitutes. I discovered that the sexuality of man and woman, especially copulation, in fact represents a state of union with God, and so is therefore considered a sacred act, hence its depiction in the temples as well as perhaps the reason for the shivalingum being in its shape. This is all my personal speculation as a result of uncovering these ancient truths about Hindu culture and beliefs. It then, assumedly goes to show why devadasis would ceremoniously sit on the shivalingum as their initiation into the tradition and marriage to the deity. This makes this bizarre initiation process almost beautiful, if one takes the full picture into account. I concluded that this fascinating uncovering would be dramatically effective as the end to this play. To add to the stark portrayal of this moment on stage, it is also the same moment that the British soldiers arrive with guns to seize the temple. This magnanimous conjunction of occurrences created a powerful experience for Deva as the ending to this play. Originally, I had the British soldiers enter and their guns clocking as the ending, but for the re-work, I added in the whole build up to this moment, as a culmination of Deva’s sitting on the shivalingum.
American author Neale Donald Walsch (1998) in his book Conversations with God Three, speaks of the sexuality of the human being as being something shrouded upon, something overlooked and something taboo. Yet, as he, in the book, ‘speaks to God’, God reveals to him that this is not ideal – we are sexual beings and copulation is a natural act. He goes on to express how adults stop a baby from touching their private parts, for example, and how pregnancy is frowned upon especially if out of wedlock. These man-made ideals which society succumbs to are in fact not necessarily in line with

‘God’s will’ if these are in direct conflict with natural human urges (Walsch, 1998: 22). This also got me thinking about how Deva’s sexuality going forward from this point, is experienced by her as a result of her first experience of her sexuality being with the shivalingum. It almost in a sense, might have kept the devadasi in control of her experience, there is no man directly involved, except through patriarchy, and it also could dignify the experience, having being part of her initiation ceremony, with other devadasis present as witness, and presumably as something that she has witnessed many times prior to her own experience of this. In similar cognisance with reference to sexuality in the West, Liddy alleges:

Many second-wave feminists have been critical of the way in which female sexuality is socially organised; tied inextricably to marriage and family, women have traditionally been encouraged to equate the expression of their sexuality exclusively with heterosexual romantic love. Sexual relations for women were expected to be part of a loving and committed heterosexual relationship because men constructed female sexuality to meet their own needs. Despite changes in the sexual practices of young women, many of these ideas are still deeply rooted in western societies. For example, 40 years after these inequalities were brought to public attention in the 1970’s, arguably, women are still viewed as less sexually driven than men, and female sexuality – where it is acknowledged – largely remains linked to romance and committed heterosexual relationships. (Liddy, 2015: 604)

Deva relates to this mode of liberation through her experience with the shivalingum. Taking the man out of the first sexual experience of a woman was indeed a powerful action for the devadasis and certainly for Deva to have experienced. Of course, hers is now scourged with the unholy presence of the British soldiers who arrive just as she sits on the shivalingum, thereby taking away the magnanimous symbolism of the moment for Deva. For me as writer, this somewhat paralleled my first sexual encounter being taken from me by an abuser.
How did these experiences affect Deva going forward? I had to ask myself this, for the re-working of the next play. In the abovementioned analysis, my personal experiences as the writer were given many further insights through the process of writing Born in blood. The parallels drawn between myself as writer and Deva are prevalent in many deep and inter-weaving ways. The dramatic action occurring for Deva in her younger years as written in this script is immense in magnitude for her as a young and new woman, as well as for her as a devadasi. The unique manner in which her truth is portrayed through these harsh experiences fuel her spiritual power for how she handles what is to come later on in her life. As the writer, with somewhat paralleled experiences, this is the same way I was fuelled – to be strong going forward, in the face of adversity.

 

b. A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets

In this play, we fast forward ten years. Deva is twenty five years of age, in a brothel in India, and the year is 1921. Although she is strong, I could best describe her as cynical. This play is devoid of much dramatic action, and is more of an expression of Deva’s mind, this purposely to somewhat show audiences the lengthy almost mundane way in which she lives and to make audiences simply see a piece of her reality. A big component always coming through in this play is her connection to God. She always refers to Krishna or Shiva. The play begins with her offering fresh flowers and a prayer at her altar. I drew on this from my own experience of always remembering God, especially in difficult times. This reminder of the goodness in the world somewhat highlights Deva’s plight and exposes her true vulnerability to the audience, despite her portrayed strength and harsh exterior as seen or heard when she is interacting with other characters in the play. She spends a large amount of time in this play in her room where she is alone and addresses the audience by looking into her dressing mirror.
The audience meets Salo, the brothel pimp via voiceover, and a reference is made to two other girls in the brothel. This is interspersed with her doing a daily performance for brothel visitors. I enjoyed writing this play as a ‘slice of life’ and this indicated by, for example, the sounds of her bells as she walks from her ‘room’ at stage left, around the back of the stage, to stage right, where the ‘brothel stage’ is.
Today, however, something happens to her. Today as she dances, for the first time she realises what her part to play is in the men reacting in the way that they do to her dancing. This is depicte
through the choreography as the dance climaxes and she runs off the stage, and straight into her room, once again indicating no time lapse due to the sound of her bells as she runs connecting the dramatic action. She usually wears a proverbial mask and performs without engaging with the men in her audience as a self-protecting mechanism. Today, though, she cannot help but realise or notice her responsibility as evident by her dialogue which she shares with the audience after dancing when she is once again back in her room, “My mask is starting to slip. I struggle to hide how I really feel. When I put my mask on, I shut off the world… but I get closer to myself – and THAT’s what’s really scaring me!”. This is an all too common coping mechanism for me as the writer, and I suspect, for many women facing issues related to their sexuality – we wear a mask to come across in a way that hides vulnerabilities beneath. I wanted to shine a light on this – hopefully letting women know that wearing a mask can sometimes be more detrimental, even though it is a self-protecting mechanism and sometimes one that is necessary, when one is facing hardships in life.
The play then launches into a bharata natyam dance, in dream sequence style, almost like a prayer where Deva is asking Krishna through the choreography and music, as quoted from the script, “The dancer asks why God doesn’t give her a moment’s grace despite all her prayers”. During this dance piece, whether by Deva’s imagination or her belief in prayer, she witnesses or experiences something as a direct message from Krishna, she is ecstatic and this is revealed in the choreography by her launch into a series of deistical depictions of various stories from Krishna’s life as the music and mood of the dance changes gear quite drastically to a more upbeat and fast paced tempo. She ends the dance on a ‘high’ and, as the lights black out and come back on again, we find Deva back in her ‘room’ where the audience realises she has been this entire time, back in her reality. I wanted the audience to starkly realise that as they leave the theatre to go to their home, Deva will still be in the brothel. This minimalistic portrayal of Deva’s reality, coupled with her realisation of responsibility drives this plot forward in that even though she is stuck in this place for ten years and counting, she still prays, she still has hope, she still has personal realizations and although she is somewhat cynical, she is still a human being with complexities worth sharing. The simple and linear nature of this play makes the audience directly face Deva and I hope that audiences leave with an appreciation for their own lives.
In parallel with my own experiences as the writer, sometimes ‘bad’ experiences leave us more conscious of future actions and lessons, I find myself ever ready to face another challenge, a knowing that I can handle anything that comes my way, because I have handled hardships in the past. This is a quality in me which I share with Deva and I believe giving her this inner strength renders her endearing and respected. Only now can I look back at some of my experiences and be thankful for them in that they gave me this quality of inner strength. This is a realisation that writing Deva’s experiences in this play helped me to uncover – hence the word “journey” in the title, A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets.
From the mundane reality that Deva has faced for the past ten years, what sort of morphing would take place within a person? I asked myself this question before writing the next play. As the writer, I am an avid day-dreamer, I immediately linked in my mind Deva’s devotion to God with a strong reliance on dreaming, what sort of dreams would Deva have? What could give her the strength to be positive and to hope for a better future? These questions are also ones which I ask myself, and once again, the narrative fuelled by my personal realisations.

c. A devadasi in love?

In this play, we fast forward three years to 1924, where Deva is twenty eight years old and still in the same brothel. Despite that her circumstances have not changed; she has developed a reliance on dreaming – a reliance bordering on over-reliance. She has somewhat idealistic views in these dreams of hers, which encompass true love and these dreams, although being her source of inspiration and strength, have somewhat tricked her into thinking that they can become a reality. Or rather she has allowed herself to be tricked by the possibility of her own dreams. This, in theory, is not an issue, but becomes an issue when she looks for the realisation of her dreams in an experience; as opposed to letting the experience unfold before her. Without these dreams being explicitly explored within the dramatic action of the play, this was the inspiration behind much of the action which ensues during this play. This is paralleled with my own personal experiences of this exact phenomenon. She meets a prince who finally seems to embody everything she hoped a man could have; this happening through rich merchants or princes coming from neighbouring villages to the brothel to look for girls to ‘buy’. The character of the prince, Azamat (meaning ‘pride’) is played with in terms of his mysteriousness. Even though his presence is indicated through dance, choreography and voiceover, I wanted to leave the audience wondering whether the entire character was not in fact a figment of Deva’s imagination. I was inspired in this regard by own experience of meeting a man who disappeared as fast as he appeared, almost like a dream, a dream that taught me many life lessons – a big one of which was idealistic dreaming in terms of romantic love is not a lasting reality, one which many women believe is a reality. This often leads to immensely heart-breaking experiences for the woman involved; and perhaps for the man too. Many men who meet such a woman would be completely au fait with taking advantage of her innocence and naivety by trying to fulfil her idealistic views. It is when things start unravelling that the true nature of a person is revealed. Unfortunately, parents of female offspring sometimes tend to have a protected view over their daughters, often to their detriment, and this is especially true in my experience and generally that of my community. Many young Indian girls in the Port Elizabeth community I grew up in have since married men not of the Indian culture and this has brought ‘shame’ to their families. Many of these girls are shunned from the family. Some elope. Some have many difficult experiences of their parents’ discriminatory behaviour in this regard. I wanted to tackle some of these issues, indirectly, against the tradition of the devadasis in a hope to shine a light on the futility of these idealistic views placed upon women, and especially if that woman is your daughter. These same idealistic views are not imposed upon males and this sexist view of dating will not serve our women going forward. I grew up thinking and believing a man would and should save me from the confines of my parents’ grip. But in actual fact what happened was that I unconsciously re-created for myself situations whereby some of the same personal infringements that were enforced on me by my upbringing, were deep seated in the unfolding of some of my relationships. These unhealthy unconscious experiences need the light of consciousness for people to start to enforce some sort of positive change for the women of our generations. These insights have been directly and overtly learnt by me as the writer, solely through the writing of this play. And I hope that audiences share these realisations when watching this play.
This entire experience, including the culmination of these realisations about my upbringing found themselves in this play. I presented the character of Azamat somewhat a ghost-like figure who brings out a big lesson for Deva. His ghost-like manner is emphasised by how amazingly Deva sees this man – her experience is shown to the audience only through her eyes. His entrance initially should make the audience want to put a face to this mystery man, but this is not satisfied and in fact not necessary. A woman’s experience is her own and the audience need not see the man physically to engage with her experience of him. I also wish for female audience members to face the naivety in themselves by seeing how Deva softens and changes as a result of this man. It has become so apparent how women can change in the face of a relationship and the effects this has on the man and on the relationship, because once the initial infatuations fade, or something real happens, the flairs fall away and what is left is only the truth about a person. The fact that Azamat physically takes Deva away and showers her with the riches of his life is a further idealism I wish to face – that of economy being a tool that men sometimes use to gain power and leverage over females. And the fact that females allow this and some even look for this material wealth in a partner.
Deva goes through some inner changes as a result of these economic changes – she starts drinking wine, she becomes somewhat sloppy in speech and thought and she also has no problem eating meat, being previously vegetarian, and also enforces her authority on Lubena, her attendant – the irony being that she herself is in essence a servant. What spurs about a wakening from this unconscious streak of hers is not a change in the way Azamat treats her, but the fact that he shows the same affection he has for her towards other women. Once again, her ideals prevail as this occurrence shocks her out of her love dream. She immediately remembers herself and this shift spurs about a deep anger as she is jolted back into reality. Ironically, it is a good thing – this versus her remaining unconscious in her ideologies. She immediately feels like she needs to take some action, not only to get her personal power back, but also to teach Azamat a lesson. She toys with the idea of enduring Azamat for the comforts he and his circumstances provide, and compares it to her reality back in the brothel. It is ironic that she chooses the brothel over her ideals. She weighs up her chances of freedom, and realises freedom is something that will never be hers no matter which path she chooses and so she chooses the path that aligns with her morals and beliefs. As the writer, believe in her choice.
This brings me to the ending of the play. When writing a series, I believe it is important that I keep each play episodic in nature, thereby being able to stand as its own story if performed in isolation, but also to form a greater story if all the plays are watched in the order they were written. For this reason, I chose an ambiguous ending. I think it is very powerful and intriguing when an audience gets to decide what they think has happened. Also, I love the idea of leaving audiences with something to discuss, afterwards. A discussion about the ending, could lead to so much audience consideration about the entire play, as well as the trilogy as a whole, and most importantly, a discussion about the devadasis. I chose to have Deva leave the stage, followed by a gunshot as offstage action. I wish for the audience to wonder whether Deva has killed herself or Azamat. Either possibility is plausible especially considering the dialogue before the shooting, as quoted from the script “I know what I must do” as well as the consequences for Deva after the fact. This ambiguity could be very shocking for the audience and could remind the audience that this is a very real situation, even in today’s times.

Following on from this, I chose to culminate the possibility of the entire play or existence and experience with Azamat being a dream by the final short scene. Deva is sleeping, in her original brothel outfit and a faint gunshot sound wakes her suddenly making her shiver, and the audience is left wondering whether the entire episode (the entire play of A Devadasi in Love?) was in fact a dream. This irony then also coming to culmination in the ridiculousness of a devadasi falling in love as is hopefully finally realized by the audience via the question mark in the title.
It is very real to have had a pivotal and all-consuming life experience feel like a dream in hindsight. It is also very real to have a powerful dream that teaches a lesson or profoundly changes you. I wanted to explore and play with these possibilities in the play and also leave the audience with the same self-explorative possibilities.

5. Conclusion

As explained above, most of the context of my work is based on personal experience: as a modern day devadasi, performing and taking money in return, being a businesswoman, a tax-payer, and contributing member of society, I can relate to the original devadasi women who had much societal and political influence in the times of their prime. The exposition of this story is important, I believe, in educating and informing people of the realities that face us today as being much the same as they were in the time of the devadasi – this enabling the narrative to “circulate socially as (a) cultural and social resource(s)” (Lawler, cited in Liddy, 2015: 601). I asked myself the following: how do I, through this trilogy, expose this in an attempt to stir some sort of positive societal growth? Feminist African writer, Ama Ata Aidoo declares that, “the committed artist has to be an activist […] whether through the mode of writing or other areas.” (Aidoo in an interview with Azodo, 1999: 436). This sums up what I attempted to accomplish in the writing of this trilogy. It is so important for me as a writer to utilise my moments on stage for the purpose of attempting to influence people positively.
Theorist and author, Neville Goddard described the consciousness of man as the manifestor and that of the female as the creativity behind that manifestation.23 These divine roles are only brought about through the light of consciousness, and cannot come as a result of the idealisms of love which, for example, Deva has. Only once I personally understood this, could I complete this play. It is indeed interesting how, for me, the creation of my work is a means of perspectivising my life and experiences. Hopefully this will have similar effects on my audiences.
It is very important for me to highlight at the culmination of this paper, upon the following; only through the reflection of writing this trilogy as fuelled by the writing of this paper, did I realise my personal stake for writing these plays – that of utilising Deva’s narrative as a means for understanding my own experiences in this life, and from there only was there a powerful enough


23 An audio recording of a talk given by Neville Goddard wherein he mentions this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRZ-kTIGRwY


message to be able to be understood and appreciated for social interests of audiences. In no way, did I directly and consciously realise that this was in fact a subconscious way of personal emancipation. And from there, in no way, is this the focus for audiences that come and view these plays. In no way would I even want or need them to make this association between writer and character, directly or indirectly. As an artist and in particular reference to me as a writer, this would be selfish. Even as an actor, it would be going against my understanding of, for example, Stanislavski’s portrayal of stepping into a character upon a neutral state of actor. And this is a crucial point for me to personally make peace with, as the writer, actor and performer of this work. When I step into Deva, I step away from my world and into hers. If anything it fuels me. It fuels me with the artistic integrity I feel is needed to take on such a mammoth task of attempting to portray the serious, sad and magnanimous topic of the devadasis, or in this case, one devadasi, Deva. Or taken to today’s times, the portrayal of sex slaves in Mumbai, India. It is an important story that needs to be told. It is not important for audiences to know the inspiration behind the writing. As the writer, however, it is truly liberating to understand where my motivations lie.
Upon visiting Amsterdam and the famous Red Light District in 2017, I profoundly realised its reality only when I saw first-hand that prostitution is considered a tax-paying profession for those practising and purchasing. Of course in theory, I knew this was happening, but to see it and face it head on rendered it a lived experience, praxis. It allowed a further layer of the importance of my message in the writing of this work, which I did not have before – that there are still rife sicknesses in the mind of human beings when it comes to their most private and sacred experiences – that of sex. Just as I attempt to free devadasis from negative subjugation, I attempt to free women by showing them that their sexuality is the part of themselves that is most worthy of reverence, power and great respect,
and not a mere act for the pleasure of men. I truly believe that when all women realise this, of course men will follow suit, and our Kali Yug will finally make way for our Golden Age.24


24 According to Indian Sanskrit scriptures, we are currently in the Age of the Machine or Kali Yuga, after which there will be a Golden Age.


6. Reference List

Cameron, J. (2000). The right to write: An invitation and initiation into the writing life. Sidgewick & Jackson.
De Bruin, H. M. de (2007). Devadasis and village goddesses of North Tamil Nadu. In H. Bruckner, E. Schombucher & P. Zarrilli (Eds), The power of performance: Actors, audiences and observers of cultural performances in India (pp 53-82). New Delhi: Manohar.
Kersenboom, S. C. (2013). Devadasis/Courtesans. In K. Jacobsen (Ed), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism (pp. 715-724). Boston: Brill.
Lewis, H. P. (2012). Dance of bliss. Cape Town: Ihilihili Press.
Liddy, S. (2015). Stories We Tell Ourselves: Writing the Mature Female Protagonist [Electronic version]. Sexuality & Culture, 19, 599-616.
Lidke, J. (2015). Dancing forth the divine beloved: A tantric semiotics of the body as rasa in classical Indian dance [Electronic version]. Sutra Journal, 1(2), 1-11.
Patil, S. (2017). Female Protagonist. International Journal of Educational Research Studies, 2(11), 817-820.
Phadke, P. (unknown). The digital media and it’s impact on the dance pedagogy of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2015, from www.academia.edu
Ringdal, N. J. (2004). Love for sale: A world history of prostitution. New York: Grove Press.
Tolle, E. (1999). The power of now. USA: New World Library.
Toscan, R. (2011). Playwriting seminars 2.0: A handbook on the art and craft of dramatic writing with an introduction to screenwriting. USA: Franz Press.
42
Walsch, N. D. (1998). Conversations with God: An uncommon dialogue. USA: Hampton Roads Pub Co Inc.
Wilson, E. & Goldfarb, A. (1991). Theatre: The lively art. USA: Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data.

Introduction

Devadasi (slave of God) ranks among the most controversial and powerful incentives of Western fantasies about the East” (Jacobsen, 2013: 715). Her dance and her sexuality are shrouded in mystery and intrigue. In this paper, I intend to begin to uncover the dichotomy between Devadasis and their Indian classical dance, with prostitution and courtesan behaviours.

“Academic discourse and popular politics have sensationalized the question of whether the devadasi was, or was not, a prostitute, in addition to being a dramatic and ritual performer” (De Bruin, 2007: 55).

1.1 Area of Research

The devadasi was mainly named that due to her activities in daily upkeep of the temple to which she is assigned. A servant[1], rather than a slave of God thus seems like a more appropriate term to describe her. Servant denouncing willingness to serve God, a slave insinuating having no choice or say in her profession. According to De Bruin (2007), she served God and the community in exchange for a high stand in society, financial support from the surrounding kingdoms and reverence as a human as she would take on the form of a Goddess in order to bless those around her through ritual or at various religious and community festivals and events.

Segregated prostitute practices of the world, have erroneously blanketed the holy nature of the devadasi who was a temple dancer – the entire fraternity of these women have been caste under the umbrella of prostitution. An ancient eastern practice that was not fully understood or appreciated has, as a result, lost its essence over time and the women of God who created and followed ancient classical Indian dance have lost their dignity and traditions, which was once very high in society. The dichotomy of the devadasi prevails:

As “container term,” it came to frame nearly all women working in the Indian public sphere, both sacred and secular; thereby it obliterated large differences in regional, historical, social and professional hierarchies… The encounter among Western travelers’, missionaries’, colonizers’, and Indian courtesans’ lifestyles produced highly divergent stereotypes. Thus the reception of their presence swung from adventurous discoveries to exotic fairy tales, from luxurious hedonism to moral indignation mixed with uneasy shame, and finally to a retrograde reification of a noble past that was in essence “spiritual,” eagerly shared by local and global audiences. (Nevile, cited in Jacobsen, 2013: 715)

Following this, by nature, a woman of those times might have been easily overpowered; however, she then had no choice but to do what she had to, to survive. The devadasi accepted her fate and allowed the tradition to be lost, in an attempt to either save her and her family from pain of negative association, or perhaps in an attempt to savour what last dignity this ancient practice had left by not defending the tradition to the patriarchal colonialists who had already overpowered the men in the Indian societies. Below an account of a devadasi named Dhanammal:

…in the present, degenerate time my children and their families-in-law think it is indecent: ‘Our girl-children will be labelled the granddaughters of a devadasi. It’s offensive. We don’t want to be associated with it.’ That’s the reason. My own children don’t want to have any connection with this profession. (De Bruin & Rajagopal, cited in De Bruin, 2007: 55)

1.2 Personal Involvement in the Field

According to the World Book Dictionary, a courtesan is “a prostitute at a court or among the nobility or wealthy classes” (Barnhart, 1993: 477).[2] In contrast, a Devadasi is translated as a “slave of god” (Jacobsen, 2013: 715). And a prostitute is defined as “a women who has sexual relations with men for money” (Barnhart, 1993: 1671).

How then, is it possible, for example, in Brill’s Encyclopaedia of Hinduism to subtitle a section as follows: “Devadasis / Courtesans”? Translation: Slaves of God / Prostitutes? If this is due to subjugation on the part of historians, society, the British colonialists or simply a patriarchal standpoint, then surely going back and fighting to free this hegemony is a worthy task for a 21st century modern Indian Classical Dancer? I believe I was a devadasi in a past life. Or perhaps I am a modern devadasi, one who values the religious and spiritual content of what my older sisters of the tradition practiced for a living. As an Indian dancer in a modern industry, western society and as a generally liberated individual, I find it personally insulting that the devadasi was put in the same category as prostitutes, for the simple reason, that I perform Indian dance and take money in return for same. This has enabled me to become an independent, free woman, next to and among women of other professions and as a result, stand financially independent through sharing Indian classical dance and it’s spiritual and religious content and nature with audiences, corporates and even temple and community gatherings. If I were a devadasi in my past life, where I devoted myself to temple servitude and dance, this for me would be an honour and not enslavement.

1.3 Socio-Historical Perspectives

Social circumstance, viz. British colonialism affected the devadasi and her standing in the community. The colonialists usurped the kingdoms and polluted the temple systems, yet these women who were noted for their wisdom and personal freedom did not seem to have the choice of whether or not to then enter into prostitution? If they did then choose prostitution, perhaps this was due to extreme desperation or enforcement on the part of corrupt officials. If some or even the majority did fall prey to prostitution for whatever reason as a last resort, then how and why were they all subjugated into such a broad category socially and historically? Is it because they were women? Or is it because they were dancers? Perhaps, because they were both? We might never find out, though I cannot see this being very far removed from modern times. De Bruin supports this theory and this investigation:

While the ‘sexual content’ of the devadasi tradition, and the way it reacted to the impact of modernity, needs further investigation, the equation of the devadasi with a prostitute is clearly an oversimplification and an inadequate explanation of the stigma that came to be attached to her person and her profession. Her stigmatization not only disqualified the devadasi from full social acceptance, it also made her reluctant to let her female relatives enter into the same profession and adopt her lifestyle. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)

1.4 The Argument

Lord Nataraja (or Shiva in His cosmic dance form as the God of Dance), dances the Shiva tandava or holy dance of Shiva which is generally taught to experienced, energized dancers who are mature enough to manage the stamina required to successfully embody Lord Shiva in this dance. Lidke (2015) on tantric semiotics describes the holy dance of Lord Shiva (tandava) as follows,

His dance embodies the Five Powers: creation, sustenance, destruction, concealment, and revelation. His dance is the totality of the cosmos. Its ultimate purpose is recognition… By dancing, God creates, sustains, destroys, conceals and re-cognizes himself by means of grace. (Lidke: 2015: 8)

Classical Indian dance is a powerful art form, seeping with religious and cultural content. It was codified in a most beautiful way by Lord Brahma (the Divine creator), in the Natya Sastra[3]. It is practised the world over in an attempt to share visually with audiences and societies the mythological and deistical stories which revolve vastly around bhakti (devotion) and reverence of the various Gods and demi-Gods, who form a large part of the Hindu way of life.

In modern societies, ideals such as freedom of speech are advocated. Therefore, in this paper, I endeavour to attempt to remove the negative veils of mystery shrouding this tradition which entrap Indian classical dance and thus, to uphold the positive truths about devadasis and their value to society.

  1. Historical Backdrop

The ancient Puranas (early verses pre-BC) and other religious Indian texts indicate that there was a recognized system of dance well over two-thousand years ago. These vedas[4] codify four pillars of enlightenment within Hinduism which encompass dharma (doing one’s duty), artha (earning spiritual and material wealth without attachments), kama (material and sensual enjoyment, with the senses under control), moksha (attaining salvation or liberation) (Bhalla, 2003: 3). Desire (kama), being part of the title of the ancient Vedic text by Vatsyana, entitled Kama Sutra, wherein love, relationships and sexual encounters are analysed and codified, as a means to reach the Divine through overcoming and conquering ones desires. Vatsyana describes different types of prostitutes as follows: a learned luxury prostitute trained in the 64 arts alluded to in the Kama Sutra is a ganika[5], a temple prostitute[6] is a devadasi, a cheap sex worker tempting men with her dress was a vecya, and one who ran after men was a pumscali. In the Vedic texts there are about 300 different terms for various forms of prostitutes indicating that prostitution was certainly a popular exercise (Ringdal, 2004: 71).

Why the temple dancer is in this category is unknown. Since Ringdal’s text is based largely on prostitution, perhaps this once again alludes to only that portion of devadasis who had chosen prostitution. It is no doubt present in the other sects of ancient Indian societies as cited by Vatsyana through Ringdal above.

Ringdal (2004) shares from Kautilya’s[7] script of Arthasastra how the caste system in 4th Century BC worked: Brahmin priests and nobility were kshatriya, merchants, farmers, artisans, musicians, actors and ganikas were middle class vaishya and purely working class were shudra. (Ringdal, 2004: 72)

The ganikas had their own hierarchy as well. The top stratum was directly linked to the king. Others were admitted to the court of the queen and princesses, while the lowest ranks were available to servants and low-status guests. One of the royal ganikas would ceremoniously be installed as the arthasastra – stately courtesan – and could assign status to women of lower ranks and mediate disputes among the prostitutes. The privilege was often passed down to an arthasastra’s chosen successor, since the position was also accompanied by a good income and less physical work. A good arthasastra would take care of any sister, daughter or cousin in the business, and her professional responsibility was to seek out the best qualified to carry the royal umbrella, prepare the food, or nurse the royal family. They all had to be obedient, beautiful, artistic, and able entertainers for the men of the royal household. (Ringdal, 2004: 73)

Furthermore, dance was considered a cure for illness, a means of worship, and through dance, one could attain redemption, or moksha (Lewis, 2012: 21). As evidence hereto, Lewis (2012) points out that “The Shiva Puranas state… Shiva’s temple must be supplied with girls who dance and sing” (Lewis, 2012: 25).

“The Siva Sutra proclaims the Self to be a dancer” (Lidke, 2015: 8). According to Lidke (2015), this is a cultural and historical reference to the long-standing tradition of classical dance in India. This dance was considered to be the 5th Veda and was developed by the 9th century into a primary form of temple worship through devadasis. Lidke (2015) further reiterates that

The Devadasi tradition as an integral expression of the Tantric vision of an integrated mandala system in which living kings connect to a divine king through a clan nectar that flows into the body politic through an elaborately orchestrated hierarchy of state rituals orchestrated within the state sponsored temple system and replicated, fundamentally, as individual puja. (Lidke, 2015: 8)

To this end, the devadasi and her body was to be the vehicle of rasa (mood) for the aesthetic satisfaction of the image within the temple. According to Pt. Nataraj Ramakrishna, who was interviewed by Lidke (2015), the devadasi’s purpose was to “witness your own deeper personality emerge out of you and stand before you as your own Beloved”. Through dance, the devadasi was able to infuse the Goddess to whom she was dedicated with her own awakened personality to become spiritually charged which was enjoyed by the deity and then tasted by the devadasi who then receives ‘blessing power’ (Lidke, 2015: 8).

2.1 Natya Sastra

In an attempt to portray the religious, spiritual and holy nature of Indian classical dance, I find it necessary to summarize key components by various scholars on the origins of Indian classical dance through sacred texts which were dictated by the Gods and are shared below.

The ancient North Indian Sanskrit text written by Bharata Muni called the Natya Sastra (200AD) is a complete treatise on the dramatic arts. It covers all aspects of drama and dance and discusses classical dance in a secular setting that was probably taught through an oral tradition for centuries. According to the Natya Sastra, there is no mention of a temple dance tradition, even though dance was performed on stage and privately on auspicious occasions, specifically to bring prosperity, as per slokam (verse) 328 of the Natya Sastra which states that “one who practises the art of Lord Shiva is cleansed of all sins and achieves Sivaloka”[8] (Muni, cited in Lewis, 2012: 21).

Why would she “sin”, knowing she would cleanse her sin the next time she danced? Alternatively, if she chose “sin”, did she do so knowing she would be cleansed after dancing? Prostitution can be considered a sin, but what about her sexuality in general?

On the origin of the Natya Sastra itself, tradition dictates that the Devas (minor gods) approached Brahma, the Creator, requesting a divine activity as a diversion from deteriorating lifestyles. Lord Brahma then assimilated the 4 Vedas, and upon instruction from Indra (god of heavens), he dictated the Natya Sastra to Bharata Muni. Semi-historical legends (Itihasas) were dramatised and Lord Brahma created Asparas (divine damsels) for the sole purpose of presenting exotic sentiment (Lewis, 2012: 69). Lord Brahma then instructed a rendition of a play for the enjoyment of Lord Shiva (God of Dance) who suggested the inclusion of nritta (pure dance) as an addition. There was some resistance for this inclusion which was finalised when Bharata Muni surmised, “It (dance) creates beauty and elegance, generally the world over there is a natural attraction to dance and besides, it’s auspicious” (Muni, cited in Lewis 2012: 70). A fight ensued, forcing the sons of Brahma who knew the contents of the Natya Sastra to be confined to earth where they married into the local population and created a dance caste known as the Bharatas, who upheld dance and drama for generations to come (Lewis, 2012: 71).

Lewis (2012) further iterates that according to the Natya Sastra

dance has always, in the Hindu religion, been equated with worship… dance was considered of such significance for the well-being of mankind that, as far afield as Indonesia, sculptors chiselled away so that dance poses described in the Natya Sastra could adorn the temples… dance and drama are gifts from the Supreme Deity. (Lewis, 2012: 73)

Referring to Natya (drama), the Natya Sastra quotes the following in chapter 36 shlokam 79, “one who practises this great art based on the Natya Sastra is elevated to the status of a Vedic Scholar, one who has performed sacrifices and an eminent benefactor (Muni, cited by Lewis, 2012: 73).

As modern exponents of this tradition, we are taught staunch rituals and practices as part of our dance training. For example, after arangetram[9] one is encouraged to wear a sari[10] at cultural events. One is encouraged to not consume meat or alcohol at least especially on dance days. One is considered a role model in society and an example to young girls in the community. These practises and observances denounce a way of life, an upkeep of tradition, a living personification of a goddess through divine depiction in action, social standing, and most importantly through her study of the dance form. The Natya Sastra provides the training and codification, but the devadasis embodied these ideals.

2.2 Court dancers vs. Temple dancers

It is essential to draw comparisons between these two sects of ancient classical dance, for somewhere in between these two threads, perhaps where they cross, lies the associations of courtesans and prostitution. Once again, I cite views by various authors on the distinction between these two sects below.

According to Kersenboom (2004), the traditional margam (repertoire) of the Devadasi, as prescribed by the Natya Sastra provides songs and dances for both pure ritual (to establish auspiciousness and destroy inauspiciousness) as well as devotional ritual (recreating divine stories and service either for comfort or entertainment). The richest offerings are for temple repertoires including compositions for the above divine purposes. Alternatively, “the king’s court requires more artistic sophistication and entertainment than is usually found in the temple” (Kersenboom, 2004: 138).

We now start to witness that the court dancers of the kings were more concerned with entertainment and aesthetics than in the temples. Perhaps this shift to the courts aided the devadasis’ holy deterioration. Prior to 500AD, dancers in temples served, worshipped and entertained the deities; there is comment on dance in auditoriums for the public and also specific forms of dance suited to the royal courts (Lewis, 2012: 25). There is always a direct distinction observed by scholars between court and temple, which is valuable to this study. However, even for some kings, there was holy power associated with the dancers. Between 100 and 300 CE, ancient Tamil texts reveal the female virali (skilled one) and patini (songstress) who are antecedents to the devadasi. “Their arts of song and dance are not mere entertainment; rather, they deliver efficacy of power and valiance to the king and his country, clan, forefathers, and victorious bravery in battle” (Jacobsen, 2013: 718).

Whether for temple or courtly purposes, the evidence above points out that the subject-matter or content of the dancing performed was of a holy or at least powerful nature. Bringing prosperity to kings and communities is an auspicious gesture and one that can be practised only by a pure soul – not only within her own consideration, but within the eyes of the temple priests, kings, princes and communities. There must have been a very strong association for devadasis to be considered powerful, pure, divine, ritualistic, and close to God. Whether sexual practices were associated with each and every devadasi, we don’t know, but that does not seem to have waived their spiritual and religious standing in the societies and surrounding kingdoms.

  1. On the Devadasi System

Since the devadasi tradition is shrouded in mystery, ambiguity, some deference and contrasting confusion, it is valuable to consider a few research opinions below. It is important to bear in mind that the tradition varies from state to state, considering there are 8 distinct classical dance styles stemming from various geographical areas in India, as well as a developing and morphing traditions which altered according to variations such as language, culture, climate, economics and certainly era.

In reference to Bharata Natyam,[11] which was previously called dassiatam, Phadke alleges that the devadasi was a woman who was wedded to the main idol of the temple and dance was her path to worship. It was a familial system, whereby only those following familial lines were allowed into the performing and learning space. Teaching was usually done by males belonging to the family of the devadasi’s (Phadke, 2015, 1).

In Ringdal’s (2004), Love for Sale, A world History of Prostitution chapter 5 entitled, “Hindu Ambiguity”, he describes generally that the Devadasi’s had a multi-function within the Indian society:

Young girls looked after India’s temples and pagodas; adult women coddled the Gods, much as daughters and wives did for their men at home, or as court ladies cared for the princes in their palaces. Every morning the temple girls sang and danced to honour the God; during the day they swept and cleaned, and fanned the images of the Gods so that they would not grow hot in the heat of the day. In the evening they again sang and danced for the God; they were a joy and an inspiration for earthly men who visited the temples. (Ringdal, 2004: 77)

According to Kersenboom, and various devadasi informants, the term devadasi is misunderstood due to the social stigma that became attached to it in the following way, “There is a Devadasi “life” (vrtti), and a Devadasi order or traditional right (murai, Tamil), but not a Devadasi caste (jati)” (Kersenboom, 2004: 134). Much like Hinduism itself is described as a way of life and not a religion[12].

Kersenboom describes the devadasi and her role as one which is ritualistic in nature. In comparison to the more abstract, quiescent principles associated with a (male) god, the (female) goddess is said to be creative in her ability to remove the evil eye that consumes everything:

The dynamic principle (of the female goddess) can be both destructive and protective. An excess of dynamism destroys; properly harmonized, however, it creates, nourishes and protects. A method was devised for controlling this dynamism from within: the creation of a female ritualist whose power (sakti) could be ritually merged with that of the great goddess (Sakti)… the Devadasi was such a ritualist. (Kersenboom, 2004: 136)

Similarly, following the tantric logic, De Bruin describes “the Goddess, of whom the Devadasi is a living embodiment, is the active power and source of fertility moving towards her human devotees” (De Bruin, 2007: 71). As much as her devadasi duties and way of life was for her own worship, the value of her life and power was greatly valued, utilized and needed by the people.

Kersenboom then describes the process involved in the validation and ordination of a Devadasi and this includes an initiation ceremony, involving the worship of her ankle bells[13], a marriage ceremony to the chosen deity, a dedicative branding, either by tattoo or heated metal if which it heals well, is a symbol of purity. The traditional view holds that all women, by their very nature, share in the power of the goddess.

To further reiterate the devadasi as a respected woman in society, Kersenboom describes in the imagined continuum of auspiciousness (mangalam), individual women are placed at one end of the scale or the other according to their status. At the top is the married woman whose husband is alive and who has borne several children: she is called ‘auspicious woman’ (sumangali). At the bottom of the scale is the widow for she is considered highly inauspicious. In ritual terms, however, the Devadasi exceeds even the sumangali auspiciousness. Two reasons are given for this. First, her individual female powers are merged with those of the goddess. Second, she is dedicated to a divine husband who can never die. Since she can never lose her (double) auspiciousness, she is called ‘ever auspicious’ (nityasumangali). (Kersenboom, 2004: 137)

According to de Bruin, the Devadasi system in North Tamil Nadu even pervaded the caste system and occurred at all levels of society,

However, it seems to have been practised on a larger scale by persons at the middle and higher, economically viable, strata of the rural society, perhaps because the custom and its patronage required financial input in the form of training expenses and the upkeep of the devadasi women. (De Bruin, 2007: 57)

De Bruin supports Kersenboom we shall see, by sharing her research gained from first-hand experience of devadasi, Tirumati M. Dhanammal:

Rural devadasis appear to have been instrumental in activating, representing, and containing dangerous sacred power, which accompanies the increased presence of the Goddess. They did so through their handling of ritual and dramatic services and through their own ‘presence’ or ‘being’ in the form of their life-long state as women dedicated to and merged with the Goddess. (De Bruin, 2007: 60)

According to De Bruin, the performance practices of devadasis indicates that they in fact were living substitutes or fragments of the Goddess. One of the last practicing devadasis who gave up her profession in 1973 due to family pressures, “Dhanammal described herself as ‘belonging to the Goddess’, as ‘an integral part of the Goddess’, ‘serving the Goddess’, and ‘being in bondage to the Goddess’” (De Bruin cited by De Bruin, 2007: 69)

“Her (Dhanammal’s) biography also testifies to the fact that modern society failed to provide a category for devadasi women who, through their alliances with their patrons, defied the caste system and the idealized picture of the Hindu domestic woman” (de Bruin. 2007: 54).

The sacred power is the through-line I find most evident in this study. Though her sexuality is under question, her holiness and power certainly is not. The strong, feminine and divine component of her being is undisputed and whether or not she as an individual had sexual encounters and of what kind, certainly seems unrelated to the respect she held and kept through her time as a devadasi.

  1. The link between Devadasis/temple dancing and prostitution

The British Rule in India brought about a structural change in the Devadasi system, from that mentioned above of being a familial system to a strong lack of royal patronage which reduced a number of the Devadasi’s to prostitution in order for them to fend for themselves. Dance thus became taboo in society due to the ambiguous identity of the Devadasis who was a dancer, and on some levels, a courtesan (Phadke, 2015: 1).

Kersenboom highlights that “European sources (both travelogues and missionary reports) usually depict Devadasis as ‘sacred courtesans’ who excel in the various performing arts (including the art of love)” (Kersenboom-Story, cited by Kersenboom, 2004: 135).

“The role of ‘dancer as courtesan’ is mentioned as early as 300BC in a text by Kautilya” (Lewis, 2012: 19). This was not only women, but also self-castrated eunuchs who were found around the temples of the goddesses. (Ringdal, 2004: 78)

There seems to be a definite link between a woman who dances and one who is sexually liberated. Whether this was a modern day promiscuous woman, one that is not afraid to revel in her femininity, one who liberates herself sexually, whether this was a court dancer who was popular and therefore rewarded financially by the nobility for her talent as a dancer, or mere prostitution, we might never find out. Though as there is a distinction today, the 300 different categorical terms used to denounce a “desirable woman” as described in the kama sutra, there surely was a deep understanding of the variations in the human psyche relating to sexuality in general and the divine dancer’s sexuality in particular.

  1. Exploring sexuality in Indian Cultural Practises

There is a strong allusion to sexuality in many facets of Indian culture, whether as seen in ancient sculptures which shroud the walls of many temples till today, simple perusal of the kama sutra or a general research taken on the devadasi tradition, this sexuality in itself is seen as something comparable to power and holiness, especially when conducted in specific ways as described in many different sects of Indian cultural practise. As evidence hereto, Ringdal (2004) quotes a piece of translated prose text contained in the ancient writings of India which was likely written in Old Indian, Sanskrit or Vedic:

The womb of woman is an altar,

Her nether hair is sacred grass,

Her skin the cup of her body’s sacred dram,

The lips of her sex, the fire that consumeth all. (Ringdal, 2004: 69)

Ringdal (2004) further iterates how Shiva was the protector of prostitutes[14] and that the formal consecration ceremony took place when the girls were ten to twelve years old:

They lost their maidenhood and became symbolically married to a tree, a knife, or a sword. In the Shiva temples, even the breaking of the hymen was ritualized, with Shiva worshipped in the form of a symbolic phallus, upon which the girls were ordered to take a seat. Before recorded history and in its earliest sources, most temple girls and Indian prostitutes generally were linked to the fertility cults of the maternal or love goddess. (Ringdal, 2004: 79)

Similarly, the Padma Purana (400AD), an ancient religious Hindu text relating to the creation and destruction of the universe, makes reference to specific group dances and also states that, “One who offers a beautiful woman to god attains Heaven for one full kalpa” (Padma Purana, cited in Lewis, 2012: 25). In what way or ways exactly a girl was to be “offered”, we don’t know. As sacred as these practises were, codified in Vedic texts, and as rewarded as the communities who believed in them, I wonder who decided what was to be considered “beautiful”, upon which scale this was measured, and if beauty is an aesthetic external, what is the significance of inner beauty in reference to the quote above?

To further this volatile question of beauty and aesthetics, Bohidar has studied the breasts as a means of worship “the female breast as a motif has played an important part in Brahmanical worship and representation since the Indus Valley Civilization” (Bohidar, 2015: 247). This is evidenced further by Bohidar as he goes on to present us with various scriptural stories which reference the female breasts as holy (Bohidar, 2015).

On erotic temple sculptures of Kajuraho, India, built between 950 to 1050 CE, Saini (2012) describes how “the twisted bodies of men and women in poses of blissful conjugality or uncomfortable sexuality have much more to tell about the medieval socio-cultural, religious practises” (Saini, 2012: 2). Furthermore, these sculptures have a large-scale representation of female subjects, “with or without male consorts but with accentuate contours and impossible postures” (Saini, 2012: 2). Also to be noted, on the subject of the sculptures, is that female figures outnumbered males and the solitary figure outnumbered couples. These women appear in various themes: amorous couples, men and women engaged in coitus, orgies, as a dancer accompanied with musicians, as a solitary figure engaged in various activities ranging from playing with a ball to suggestive masturbation (Saini, 2012: 3-4).

For a deeper meaning, women seem often to be associated with “fertility and growth: the biological fertility becomes a symbol of societal growth” (Dahejiya, cited by Saini, 2012: 7). For these reasons, several treatise of medieval (a period when the devadasi tradition was rife) art describe “ideas about the fertility of women and how should the same be depicted on the monuments” (Saini, 2012: 7), one of these depictions being that of the nartaki (dancer). These treatise also describe how couples engaged in coitus play an important role in decorating religious spaces, furthermore, “Agni Purana (10th Century AD) … recommended the doors of the temples to be decorated by” such couples as a “symbol of auspiciousness” (Krishnan, cited by Saini, 2012: 8). Saini highlights that it is not so interesting that these displays are present, but from whose perspective or for whose gaze was it intended? – Perhaps a draw-card for males to enter the temple space? It is suggested that these women were devadasis and that the sculptures display daily lives of these women (Saini, 2012: 10). These sculptures not only adorn the outer, but also the inner walls of temples, this then made historians argue that

The depiction of sexual congress in a sacred space can be seen as a symbol of the union of Purusa (man) and Prakriti (nature) bringing about moksha (eternal bliss). In Tantra, maithuna (sex) is a repetition of the primal copulation of the divine couple. In that sense, woman becomes the symbol of the feminine principal, who is active in this context. The importance of female sexuality as a marker of the fertility of the kingdom is further reiterated in the outcome of this congress. (Saini, 2012: 14)

Alles (1992), on the sculptures states that they “do not primarily affect people who stand still and observe them. They exercise religious power on people who approach and enter them” (Alles, cited by Saini, 2012: 15). Saini (2012) in conclusion, argues that these depictions of women, their associations to divine fertility and prosperity may be truth to an extent as per theories only, given the lack of recorded information on the sculptures. This won’t change the fact that “these women in stone hadn’t been eternalised by a woman sculptor, nor where they commissioned by a princess” (Saini, 2012: 15).

Saini (2012) gives rise to a very interesting observation which perhaps might provide a possible finality in understanding the demise of the devadasi tradition. The prevailing Indian male psyche of the time: one which is essential to, but not necessarily in harmony with, the female. If the female as an entity had the same standing in ancient times as she does today, there would not be this much misconception, misunderstanding, assumptions and taboos related to the devadasi and her tradition. In a patriarchal society, codified by men, ruled by men and governed by men, the devadasi and her glory had been negatively subjugated. Perhaps this is due to simple human fate, a part of God’s plan for the earth, which is the fruition of kali yuga (machine age) which will in turn have to end a deteriorating society before a new golden age emerges, or perhaps it could or can be altered, if a maternal power emerges equal or even more superior to the male. Perhaps this is what will eventually be the trigger to the dawn of the Golden Age?

One cannot help but wonder if this is how and why the divine in the devadasi was lost and as such, why she was then masked under the harsh umbrella of prostitution?

  1. Conclusion

By writing this paper, am I living in the past? Or is it a worthy cause to fight for? I don’t know. Passion is not enough to satisfy the human psyche, we have to utilize that passion to fight for our ideals, and that is what I attempt herein.

Lewis (2012), states that a devadasis role gave her power and privilege outside of the domestic context. She had control over her own life which was not so for the rest of Hindu womankind of the time who were uneducated, illiterate and confined to their homes in their various familial roles. The majority of women were trapped in their duties and routines. These restrictions contrasted with Devadasis who were open to community interactions through various events.

The dancing permitted ordinary women to vicariously express their sexuality, the secret needs and desires and fantasies that ‘respectable married women’ had to keep hidden. Women, forbidden to take pleasure freely, could, through the dance and role of the devadasi, indirectly indulge in their natural instincts and those healthy ambitions they were otherwise required to suppress (Lewis, 2012: 222).

Kersenboom (2004) concludes of the repertoire performed by devadasis in Tamil Nadu that

Their art was marked by a minimal attempt to achieve aesthetic effect. The songs and dances are extremely straightforward and simple. It is clear that they were considered a ritual task, one which had to be performed for the sake of its occurrence and not for the sake of its artistic form. (Kersenboom, 2004: 146)

Similarly, the devadasis of Tiruttani performed their song and dance without self-conscious pride. “Their attitude towards their repertoire remains respectful but matter-of-fact.” Kersenboom (2004) then goes on to quote Smt. P. Ranganayaki who gives Kersenboom her first-hand account of being a Devadasi, and even goes on to pass the Devadasi tradition onto Kersenboom:

What is there? … It is all gone; it will never come back… Nowadays, anyone can do anything on the stage or in the film… We were God-fearing. After we got our status as devadasis, we could decide for ourselves. If some of us were deserted by men, we still had our profession which afforded us a living… We had our own discipline! (Kersenboom, 2004: 147)

Is it fair to enforce negative subjugation on anyone? Furthermore, why has it and had it been enforced on such a profound matriarchal system? The devadasi system is possibly one of the few systems that gave the initiated devadasi woman a strong standing in the society and community that the patriarchy could not even touch. Why was this system, which is shrouded around an ancient art form, so frowned upon and taboo by people who don’t understand it? If the Devadasi was so free to choose her fate, then surely, even if 9 out of 10 of them chose prostitution, what about that one that did not? This, reiterated by De Bruin below:

Through the process of stigmatization modern society thus effectively accomplished the devadasi’s disinheritance of her own tradition, her economic and ritual disempowerment, and the disappearance of her person and performance from the rural stage. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)

Within De Bruin’s (2007) chapter 2 on “Devadasis and Village Goddesses of North Tamil Nadu”, more specifically the sub-section entitled “The ‘Unspeakability’ of the Tradition”, De Bruin (2007) examines why the devadasi tradition has become so taboo. Why has Contemporary Tamil society suppressed important aspects of the tradition?

Srinivasan (1985) accounts that devadasis as free women were considered ritual specialists in the handling of their sacred power, their economic self-sufficiency and their relative independence from where a male ‘head of the family’ started to become viewed as controversial. The social and religious status of the devadasis and their descendants started to devalue as a result of changing perceptions of the tradition stimulated by reform and revival movements which emerged from the developing colonial context and political arena of the time. This caused an erosion of local systems of hereditary economic rights and obligations for the devadasis and other rural performers. The devadasi then lost her honour derived from ritual association with deities as well as her influential bargaining power “toward potential patrons who wished to be associated with her as a form of social prestige” (Srinivasan, cited by De Bruin, 2007: 55-56).

Furthermore, De Bruin (2007), on a possible reason for the devadasis deterioration, “The upward mobility of persons, who traditionally were connected with the custom, may provide a possible explanation for the intensity of the stigma that came to be attached to the devadasis once the tradition had lost its social acceptance” (De Bruin, 2007: 57). De Bruin put forward that the sexually active Goddess and her devadasis possess a sacred power as an organic force and this sexually loaded presence in the form of the devadasi acquired a negative connotation under the impact of modernization, “they came to be seen as anti-modern and irrational, the domain of the illiterate and uneducated” as a result of marginalization, suppression and transformation by mostly the Brahmin traditions. She further points out that this causes an

Inner conflict of Hindu tradition and that it should be reviewed within the terms of its two interconnected and interactive poles. This inner conflict cannot be resolved, but it does readjust and rejuvenate itself continuously through subtle shifts in the social and ritual appreciation of the status and praxis of its human agents and institutions… The fact that the devadasis are well remembered but not much talked about by older rural informants, including Brahmins, is indicative of their struggle with this inner conflict. Perhaps the debate has only now begun, for the disappearance of the devadasis and other professional performers from the rural stage has left an uncanny void. This void is the result if the impossibility to activate and propitiate the ambivalent and dangerous village Goddess effectively because of a lack of ritual specialists. (De Bruin, 2007: 72-73)

For the longest time, the colonialists have harboured the blame for the deterioration of the devadasi, perhaps it is time to consider the subliminal possible reality – the Indian male himself, more specifically that the Brahmin tradition, burnt out its own goddess candle. The evidence points in many directions, there is no clear cut understanding or reason for the demise of the devadasi but there is certainly a worthy fight to uplift our fellow dance goddess sisters who from their grave pass their passions and plight to us modern soldiers of classical Indian dance. In conclusion, I stand next to, behind and among scholars who write with reverence on the tradition.

The devadasi in herself, is a blessing to mankind, as Lidke (2015) explains so eloquently from a Tantric standpoint,

As a form of worship… the Devadasis dance form is intended to please the lord… In this role, she is a priestess whose own body conveys those aesthetically encoded messages of enjoyment by which body gestures, abhinaya (expression), conveys rasa (mood). As a Tantric messenger she brings to her lord and husband a knowledge contained in that continuum of rasa that binds refined aesthetic moods to bodily fluids identified as microcosmic equivalents of the geological and cosmological life energies that all reflect the flow and vibration of sakti within the extended interwoven body of the Tantric godhead. (Lidke, 2015: 9)

Munsi (2008), as cited by Sanjeewa gives us a more modern standpoint on the social pressures which affect temple dance and the devadasi in India:

…In an unfortunate country where life’s vigour has waned, dancing vitiates into catering for a diseased mind that has lost its normal appetites, even as we find in the dance of our professional dancing girls. It is for you to give it health and strength and richness… (Munsi, cited in Sanjeewa, Unknown: 2)

It is very interesting to note, Ringdal (2004) deduced that although Indians had codified religious texts to live by, Megasthenes[15] observed how “nobody in India could think or speak in historical terms” (Ringdal, 2004: 71). Ringdal (2004) deduces here from that although there is a vast body of knowledge on Hindu culture from poetry, philosophy and law, events cannot directly be described due to the “weakness of Indian historical tradition, which would long continue to alienate travellers, invaders, and new rulers who continued to view Indian ways as fabulous or superstitious” (Ringdal: 2004, 71). This interesting observation and summation fuels a great possibility for one of the major reasons for vast mystery within the devadasi tradition in a historical sense.

In my opinion, the only way one can attempt to understand the devadasi is to attempt to step into her shoes. As one who has been gifted the opportunity to study the dance style as she did in her times, I believe I can better step into her shoes than someone who has not. If through the practise of Indian classical dance, one is allowed the unique opportunity for a woman to merge her soul and her body as one, she is a vessel of truth and power. Her body becomes her temple, which in turn becomes a temple for those around her. Her prayer is powerful, her eyes are deep, her soul is on fire, and her truth is real. This attainment is in any spiritual view one which individuals strive to attain, one attainable through the practise and study of ancient classical Indian dance, which is a means to attain enlightenment in this human life. I would choose it again, and I am thankful it chose me. Sexual or not, I would serve God again and again as a devadasi.

  1. Bibliography

Alles, G. D. (1993). A fitting approach to God: on entering the western temples at Kajuraho. History of religions, 33(2), 161-186. Retrieved on 3 July 2016 from www.jstor.org

Bhalla, H. (2003). The Bhagavad-Gita: Abbreviated. Hong Kong: Granco Printing.

Bohidar, A. (2015). Worshipping breasts in the maternal landscape of India [Electronic version]. South Asian Studies, 31(2), 247-253.

Bruin, H. M. de & Rajagopal, P. (2000). In their own words: The unheard history of the rural Tamil stage as told by four of its professional exponents (video interviews with P.K. Bhupati, M. Dhanammal, M. Shanmugavalli and P. Rajagopal). Leiden: International Institute for Asian Studies.

Bruin, H. M. de (2007). Devadasis and village goddesses of North Tamil Nadu. In H. Bruckner, E. Schombucher & P. Zarrilli (Eds), The power of performance: Actors, audiences and observers of cultural performances in India (pp 53-82). New Delhi: Manohar.

Kersenboom-Story, S. C. (1987). Nityasumangali: Devadasi tradition in South India. New Delhi: Motilal Barnasidass.

Kersenboom, S. C. (2010). The traditional repertoire of the Tiruttani temple dancers. In J. Leslie (Ed), Roles and rituals for Hindu women pp. 131-149). Retrieved April 24, from www.academia.edu

Kersenboom, S. C. (2013). Devadasis/Courtesans. In K. Jacobsen (Ed), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism (pp. 715-724). Boston: Brill.

Lewis, H. P. (2012). Dance of bliss. Cape Town: Ihilihili Press.

Lidke, J. (2015). Dancing forth the divine beloved: A tantric semiotics of the body as rasa in classical Indian dance [Electronic version]. Sutra Journal, 1(2), 1-11.

Munsi, U. S. (2008). Boundaries and beyond. Problems of nomenclature in Indian Dance History. Dance: transcending borders. Retrieved June 14, from www.warwick.ac.uk

Nevile, P. (1996). Nautch Girls of India: Dancers, Singers, Playmates. New Delhi: Nevile Books.

Ringdal, N. J. (2004). Love for sale: A world history of prostitution. New York: Grove Press.

Saini, S. (2012). The representation of women in the erotic sculptures of Khajuraho. Retrieved April 24, 2016, from www.academia.edu

Sanjeewa, W. (unkown). (Bha)va, (Ra)ga, (Tha)la, Natyam: Socio-cultural overview of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2016, from www.academia.edu

Srinivasan, A. (1985). Reform and revival: the devadasi and her dance. Economic and political weekly. 20(44), 1869-1876.

Phadke, P. (unknown). The digital media and it’s impact on the dance pedagogy of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2015, from www.academia.edu

  1. Sanjeewa describes her as a “servant of God”.
  2. A court dancer and a devadasi had distinct roles in ancient Indian cultures, which will be discussed in section 2.2 of this paper.
  3. Natya Sastra is discussed further in section 2.1 of this paper.
  4. Ancient Indian texts.
  5. Ganikas “were adept at reading and writing and of course could sing and dance. The ganikas could carry royal parasols and fans, wear gold jewellery and beautiful dresses… (their) services were legally recognized; they could hold money and possess land and slaves” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
  6. We can assume that the term “prostitute” as used here is once again a subjugation perhaps through translation, the devadasi is once again erroneously hegemonized.
  7. “Kautilya was the first political philosopher in Indian History… Arthasastra… describes social and economic conditions…” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
  8. Liberation.
  9. A maiden performance done for the public and critics, to introduce the dancer to the audiences as a young woman ready for the stage.
  10. Traditional Indian attire worn by women. It is a long cloth draped elegantly around the body.
  11. A classical dance style originating from Tamil Nadu in the south of India.
  12. There are no rules as such in Hinduism. There are ideals to ascribe towards but no material punishment for non-compliance. Everything is based on free-will and choosing a morally pious existence in this life so that liberation of the soul can take place and one need not be re-incarnated to live another life on this earth.
  13. A dancer ceremoniously takes blessings from her ankle bells each time before she wears them to dance. There is also an initiation ceremony at the start of a dancer’s career where the teacher or Guru blesses her bells, ties them around her ankle, and she stamps on rice which senior dance students assist her in balancing on, while she does so.
  14. If Ringdal (2004) was referring to devadasis here, then I disagree with the use of the word “prostitution” in this context. His global study on prostitution is fascinating and informative, but if a devadasi is what he studied from an Indian perspective, there is certainly place for argument as this study once again indicates.
  15. A Hellenic ambassador to the Mauryan Empire who provided the West with its first comprehensive report about India.

LCTL Performing (Performance Arts)

Reflective Practice

PERFORMING, REFLECTING INSIGHTS GAINED THROUGH FOUR DIFFERENT EXAMPLES OF FIRST-HAND PERFORMING EXPERIENCE
“I sometimes get nervous and feel like I have butterflies in my stomach. But then I go on stage, I open up my mouth and they fly out.”
– Mikaela Danchenko

Aarti Narotam

 

Introduction

In this essay, I wish to analyse, discuss and critically reflect on experiences and insights gained through four different first-hand performances of varying styles of performance art. The productions chosen have each been a personal pinnacle of growth for me as an artist and although they vary vastly, it is through that variation that my clearest insights have flowered within my understanding, purpose and journey as an artist.

Since Indian dance, mythology, music and drama is my field of expertise, I will make specific reference to a critical comparison and appreciation of western theatre through my studies and knowledge of Indian performance art. There are close similarities, and also vast differences between the bodies of eastern and western theatre studies, and this scale of comparison and analysis fascinates me through its subtle overlaps in certain areas as well as distinct features which set the two apart.

In my experience, each sect has its place of appropriateness, yet my passion has now become merging the theatre of the east and the west by exposing the richness and depth of cultural, religious, mythological and ancient styles of the eastern theatre with the sublimely deep vertical study of characterisation, acting and secularity of the western theatre. Not only through theorists such as Stanislavski, Brecht, Artaud, Meyerhold and Grotowski but also through the fascinating, endless and vastly diverse body of western theatre that is codified in a way that eastern theatre, being vastly an oral tradition, is not.

“Intelligence is not to make no mistakes, but quickly to see how to make them good.” – Bertolt Brecht

1.Medea

Medea, the Greek tragedy, set in modern times and brought to stage under the direction of Marlene Thomasse-Pieterse in 2012. I played the role of the Doctor, who was one of three female characters being closest to Medea and her children. Instead of having only a nurse – the dialogue was split into three and spread between the Nurse, Doctor and PA to Medea. The text was kept to its classical originality by Euripides and translated by Ian Johnstone but the interpretation of Pieterse was stark, bold, Avant guarde and angry, even though this anger was balanced by the soft nuances of certain choral passages which tagged at the heartstrings of the audience.

The first thing about this ancient tragedy which resonated with me, was its timeless nature exploring ever prevalent human issues including betrayal, infidelity, revenge, power, deception and more than anything the woman and her subservience to a society dominated by men. These resonating themes echo through time immemorial and continue to plague our society to the depths of the most intricate of human mind games therefore this representation of dramos captivates audiences till today.

Due to the complex mythological context of the play, an in depth research and study into the ancient Greek realm was needed. This was crucial to the understanding of the text and its political and geographical references which prevail not only in direct relations, but also when characters are coming to personal conclusions, references are often made to historical, spiritual and mythological ideas, stories, characters, deities, and even planets, elements and concepts. Without this detailed research at the commencement of the rehearsal process, one certainly cannot expect to understand and fully relate to the characters or the story. Greek mythology, much like Indian mythology, all relates in some way or the other as myths overlap and characters are given more depth via other mythological stories and plays regarding the same characters in different stages of their lives and different contexts. Medea might be the lead character in this story, but in another, say for example, “Jason and the Golden Fleece”, she would be a minor character. This interesting nuance provides a deep appreciation for the complexity within which Greek texts as a whole were written and are subsequently appreciated by scholars such as myself.

The challenge of acting in a modern setting of an ancient play lies in the fact that firstly, one has to take the mind back more than 2500 years ago to a Golden Age of Greece where super humans interacted with Godly beings, beasts, super powers, extreme wealth and a society generally advanced in every aspect of human existence. Since then, there has been no such reality on earth, and so to grasp that such high beings were exposed to such human issues as are explored in Medea is a realisation which takes patience, research and an open mind to appreciate.

After taking the mind there and attempting to accept that as a reality in order to successfully embody this play, a modern interpretation can then flow lightly and smoothly in execution, understanding and general cast acceptance of energy and flow required for this play.

The richly-laden text cuts through modern language as its imagery becomes the focus in all its subtle beauty. The text itself was deeply analysed by the cast with direction from Pieterse as to how to make the text accessible, understood and successfully rendered to the audience by the actors. The challenge in this, was remembering the body and mind of the character, by not focusing solely on the dialogue and the delivery thereof. To make the heightened text real, current and true, I had to do extensive individual rehearsal in front of a mirror which helped to gauge if my facial expression were a true reflection of the meaning of the text which served to be my greatest challenge.

The beauty of acting in a classic play for me, lies in the enlightenment up to the last performance which comes from text. As a modern actor, no matter how much time one puts into rehearsal and research, the greatest insights come through the flowering of one’s own mind which happens as quick and beautiful but lasting as does a shooting star flickering clearly on a beautiful moonlit night

2. Devadasi – A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets…

A play directed, choreographed and produced by myself performed fourteen times around South Africa as well as in Mauritius. This one woman dance drama depicts a modern day interpretation of the story of a Devadasi living in India during the late 1800’s. A Devadasi was a girl “married” to the temples or sold to temples when families could not afford to look after their female offspring. These girls would be funded by Kings or court circles of the surrounding areas and their duties included cleaning temples as well as being involved in devotional praise through festivals and community observances. During their free time, these girls would do devotional dances in praise of the Gods and deities. This was the birthplace of many of the classical Indian dance styles which we observe today, viz. Bharata Natyam, Kathak, Kuchipudi, etc. This tradition was common practise for hundreds of years until the British colonized the land and confined many of these girls to brothels, having no understanding of a temple worker and her high standing in the society within which she lived.

Deva, the lead character in this play is one such Devadasi in one such temple. Her personal insights come as a result of looking in her mirror in her room and upon seeing her reflection, she shares through the fourth wall, her deepest thoughts and feelings with the audience. This drama is written with the Italian Neoclassical Rule of Verisimilitude in mind. The play is a “slice of life” of Deva and portrays only one hour of one day of her existence.

The saddest thing about this character, is her resounding resonance with woman all over the world, throughout time, in various situations and settings within the psyche of a woman’s existence in a man’s world. Portraying such a character, opened a door to so many other such situations and became a universal communicative platform of sharing whereby after seeing the play, women became inspired to share their own stories by identifying with the characters’ deepest nuances which as a woman, we sometimes never share with family or friends, let alone with an audience.

“I want to burn with the spirit of the times. I want all servants of the stage to recognize their lofty destiny. I am disturbed at my comrades’ failure to rise above narrow caste interests which are alien to the interests of society at large. Yes, the theatre can play an enormous part in the transformation of the whole of existence.”
― Vsevolod Meyerhold

 

To put oneself into the shoes of a Brothel worker in ancient India, I had to do in depth research into the fascinating existence of these Devadasis. The fact that she landed up in a Brothel at the untouchable end of society, coming from the highest standing of caste and creed within the temple confinements of kings and court circles, is the most fascinating and deeply ironic facet to the character’s persona and journey.

Her terrible fate becomes her saving grace… If it wasn’t for her deep devotion growing up, she wouldn’t have been able to be so strong and resilient within her “new” life. She has blindly pushed on through without doubting that she is there for a reason, but today, something is different… for the first time during her dance for men in the Brothel, she notices what her dancing is doing to them, i.e. the reaction it receives or stirs within the men watching her. Prior to this day, she would escape into her dance and take her mind away from where she is, just to dance which is her nemesis. Today, she notices for the first time that she is responsible for men behaving in the way they are because she is dancing for them. As if for the first time her eyes are opening and she cannot handle what she sees. Throughout the dance she slips in and out of a “dance-haven” within her mind, and a conscious realization of the brothel and the men. She eventually runs off the stage in complete devastation of her plight.

She launches into a monologue describing her turmoil as the truth in front of her very eyes is being uncovered from beneath a metaphorical mask she has been wearing for far too long. She questions her devotion, her God, her standing as a woman, as a human, and as a devotee of the Lord. She is the one who teaches younger girls in the brothel about God and inspires their hope by singing devotional songs, yet she feels the Lord has abandoned her in her quest for salvation.

To explore such a deeply heart wrenching topic on stage through such a character of ancient origins takes most importantly of all a brave and open heart, mind and soul, to be able to receive the understanding and portrayal of such a character’s innermost feelings and realisations.

Deva ends off with a devotional Indian classical dance, 23 minutes in length and in praise of Krishna. In this dance, she explores many mythological stories of Krishna blessing various beings throughout His life. After enacting same, she asks why the Lord can’t bless her, not even a little? She is about to accept her fate that the Lord won’t come to her but as soon as she detaches from the expectation and closes her eyes in surrender, the Lord appears to her. The music changes gear and the mood of the dance develops from one of devotional praise and longing to enactment of various pass times of the Lord in complete adoration and praise in awe of the appearance Lord Krishna has made to her here, now, today, during the time when she least expected and was almost about to give up.

With the success of this play, I launch into a series of plays giving other insights into Deva’s life in the form of a prequel and a sequel to Devadasi and other stories at various other pivotal points in her life.

 

3. Bhakti

“A gesture is a movement not of a body but of a soul.”
– Feodor Chaliapin

 

A devotional dance drama featuring live musicians, a poet and 17 dancers from various classically trained backgrounds including ballet, contemporary and Indian Classical Dance. “Bhakti” means devotion, and is a devotional expression of the inner truth of each dancer through their dance, to the divine. This personal expression formed quite a challenge for me, in that I was so used to going to extremes within my acting to find the character that I initially struggled to find a character since none was given.

Choreographer and director, Lliane Loots, unified the dance style through a workshop process of a full calendar month. The entire cast had to leave their dance training and comfort zone at the door of the rehearsal room. It was communicated, that the live music would come in afterwards, and we are to work with rhythms we, ourselves create within our minds and the dancers had to hold strongly onto those rhythms in their mind, as when the music eventually came in, it in itself had its own rhythm, nuance, style and vibe. This interesting process was both a challenge and a blessing.

Coming from a Classical Indian dance style, where each toe, finger, or eye movement has a reason and place, set to a particular beat within a structured rhythmic style proved to be a huge contrast. Yet, I was chosen for “Bhakti” based on the strength within my Indian Classical Dance. I, along with the other dancers were not to worry though, as Loots had a very particular reason for the above, and knew exactly where she was taking the production. This proved to be the greatest, most exciting and challenging learning curve within my dancing throughout my entire dance career thus far, of about 25 years.

Through this journey, I was stripped completely of what I thought was my dance identity, and rebuilt myself as a stronger, kinder, happier, healthier dancer. I believe that this is the greatest gift which contemporary African dance provides to the entire fraternity of dance. One is encouraged to go with an inner rhythm, and trust that rhythm within so much that it transcends all borders and barriers we create within ourselves and each other through different dance styles.

Once we found a common understanding between the groups, Loots then taught us a unison sequence of only about 16 x groups of 8, which we later learnt would be the essential language of the production. The entire rest of the production was a workshopping process which was fuelled by a stimuli of either words, instructions or feelings of dance expression and bhakti (devotion).

The workshop process:

  1. The cast was split into groups of 4 or 5. Each group was told to create a piece borrowing movements from the unison sequence, but being sure to make it your own, to include aspects of our own classical styles as well as develop new styles, to have some unison between the group, and some individual pieces, and lastly to include at least a few lifts. This parameter was the minimum, and the maximum would be the depths of each group’s imagination and strengths. The beauty, unity through diversity, skill and subtlety which came out of this was sublime.
  2. The cast was split into pairs, with one group of 3. Each pair was told to formulate a piece whereby each person was to enter from an opposite side, spin in to their partner, and upon meeting, create a piece encompassing a greeting towards one other, including an acknowledgement of the other person and yourself, and a new identity through the unique pairing of you with your partner. This was a very exciting piece to put together, because it was the start of each dancer’s digging more into their own style. I was at this point starting to become proud and confident to borrow from Indian Classical Dance and share and develop movements with my partner. The beautiful unbounded African Contemporary style also prevailed and the collaboration started to become more definite and comfortable.
  3. The cast was again split into groups of two or three. This time the brief was to stick to our essential dance style and create a sequence through which to travel from one side of the stage to the other. By this time, the cast members were fully engaged into Bhakti, and the most beautiful sequences prevailed. It was also a time for me to work with another Indian dancer and together we combined our styles.
  4. The last group piece worked on proved to be the most difficult, ironically, it was an Indian classical dance section. Three of the Indian Classical Dancers (myself included) had to work together in creating what turned out to be an 8 or so minute piece utilising and showcasing the best of our skills together.
  5. The finale of the show encompassed a scene whereby each individual dancer had to prepare a solo stationery piece with the brief of showing through gesture and small movement what dance means to each individual. I thoroughly enjoyed this, and came up with my best work, I feel, in the entire production. The culmination of this expression of each dancer’s personal bhakti (devotion) turned out to be a beautiful ending to this production and each dancer’s solo was completely unique, skillful and devote in nature.

The process culminated when all the above listed pieces were put together to the musical accompaniment of the tabla (Indian drums), Jembe (African drums), guitar and live poet, Iain “Ewok” Robinson, who recited poetry which he scripted himself after seeing the dancing and followed a through-line of 12th century Sufi poet, Rumi, and his exploration of the spinning Dervishes to attain liberation. This spinning, which was reminiscent of the Sufi tradition tied in nicely with dance, as spinning is a key element of any and most, if not all dance styles. This uniting element assisted in the smooth transition and linking of the different styles and pieces.

I had to search for a character externally, exploring the ideas of being a spirit of dance, and a Sufi. Because the production was allowed to be made so deeply personal by Loots, I could not bring myself to ask her about characterisation. Among the cast, though, there was much discussion and thinking about it. In the end, I came to the conclusion that the character I was portraying, was my spirit in human form, which is me, but without my life experiences, attachments and nuances. I was just a spirit, fuelled by God’s energy and enlightened in movement through devotion to art, dance and of course God. I found that this deep realisation allowed my dancing to be even more free yet personal, and this landed up being a completely transformational, outer body experience for every single audience member throughout the 8 performances of “Bhakti”.

“The soul does not like to be without its body because without the body it cannot feel or do anything; therefore build a figure in such a way that its pose tells what is in the soul of it.”
– Leonardo da Vinci

Through “Bhakti”, I experienced the nature of a professional dance company, viz. “Playhouse Dance Residency” and Loots’ “Flatfoot Dance Company”, Durban, South Africa. The standard of professionalism, style of directorship and workshopping process was a once in a lifetime opportunity for the entire cast. By the end of “Bhakti”, we were a family and one which was born of the connection with the Divine which we all felt through our dance and were allowed to extend, explore and bask in, in this production.

4.Inde Le Ndlela

Translation, “The Road Is Long”, a political comedic musical based on a historical journey through the struggle of South Africans and more particularly the Xhosa and Koi San traditions. The play is told through a satiric rendition of a female Mayor of Port Elizabeth who is preparing to hand over an RDP (Reconstruction and Development Program) house to a 72 year old citizen who registered to receive same. The drama unfolds as the citizen, who currently lives in a shack, refuses to accept the house due to her wounds being too deep for the house to serve as a “magic pill”.

“An actor’s exciting profession is one of responsibility… Ethics, profound knowledge, and a highly artistic form of expression…”
– Sonia Moore

 

I played the role of Stella, PA to the Mayor, who is hell-bent on pleasing the Mayor’s every need armed with a bottle of water, a pen in her bun, a clipboard and her phone. She has for years been the right hand of the Mayor so much so that she can almost anticipate the Mayor’s needs before the Mayor herself does. She is fast, efficient, and very loyal in devotion to her PA services.

This day, as the function and preparations for the “Official handover of the RDP house” is going to take place, same also coincides with the Minister of Housing as well as the President of South Africa coming to the city to possibly fire the Mayor from her position.

As the drama unfolds, chaos ensues as the Mayor starts losing her mind, in, on one hand, trying to convince the old lady to accept the house (“failing which, the Auditor General is going to call this wasteful expenditure”), and on the other hand hearing the sirens of the President’s VIP Guard closing in on her to mark the end of her employment.

During all the chaos, Stella is the only calm and sane force amongst the ridiculousness of the government’s circus and makes a switch in the character when the Mayor accuses her of being a traitor and “working for the opposition”. The character of Stella has much more depth than I initially thought, and this allowed a quite vertical study into the realm of comedy, which is a new genre for me to have explored. The comedy sometimes hides a characters depth, and this allows for a satirical, almost stock character-type mask to be worn whereby the comedy takes the character through, relying on slapstick gestures and improvisation at times. The rehearsal process of 5 weeks took quite a journey for me to find the character and through exploration of her comedic traits, I found insights of myself whereby the character had a solid thought structure, and a method behind her madness. She completely changes gears in the play and this shift stumped me in the beginning.

What I learnt from this journey is that a respectable rehearsal period allows for a true and reflectively honest portrayal of character. It is one thing to rehearse alone, and quite another to explore and “play” as the Director (Xabiso Zweni) would allow. This “play” allowed a fun side of the character’s seriousness and I enjoyed having that freedom to really explore nuances of a character’s personality.

The director’s style was very dynamic, fresh and adventurous. At times, as an actor, one was allowed the comfort and freedom to allow personal insights to mould and sometimes differentiate the character’s original thoughts and directions, while the Director focused on the music and dance. These growth-of-character moments were welcomed by the Director which made the experience even more artistically and creatively liberating. I think this came from a true trust relationship and detachment from the Director which gave freedom to the actor and his/her expression.

Conclusion

Since I was initially trained for performance through dance (which commenced at age 3), I have always been comfortable with my body in a way where exploration of character has taken the form of body first, then into the mind and emotions of the character. This is a very personal approach and is one that found me, rather than an approach which I strived towards. A deep self-analysis is needed in order to actually gauge which approach works for you as the performer. And only through practical experience can this process become easier and more moulded to you as a person. I think it is a journey that never ends, and constantly evolves dependent upon many variants including your age, genre, character, writing style, directing style, etc. etc. etc. These varied journeys that each artist goes through is truly a fulfilling and exciting one which is totally personal and completely an introverted process. It is ironic that the mind in its exploration of acting holds the only profession whereby what is in the mind is reflected through an artistic expression of the body and soul.

Another very important transition process which I choose to implore is “MAC”.

ME → ACTOR → CHARACTER

Marlene Thomasse Pieterse’s MAC model depicts a very simple yet profound process to enable a person to step out of their life into a neutral state of actor, through warm-up, breathing, meditation and relaxation, or whichever method should suit the individual to step into the neutral space of “actor”, and thereafter to step into the shoes of the character. The character then can be dressed onto a blank canvass, the actor, and not onto an already established person, with their own characteristics, traits, weaknesses and strengths. This neutral state of actor also enables other skills to be successfully added to the character, viz. Laban movement, body type, body characteristics and style, which is what enables me personally to delve into a character.

In my opinion, the greatest gift that stage experience gives an actor, is life experience. There is no better way to learn than to put oneself in the shoes of another, and this ancient life lesson we are subjected to in many different situations is ironic in that acting allows one to selflessly embody a character and the more selfless that embodiment, the greater the value of the lesson learnt through the portrayal of that character.

 

 “I cannot conceive any work of art as having a separate existence from life itself”
– Antonin Artaud, The Theater and Its Double

 

My personal life lessons learnt from my four acting experiences analysed above include:

  1. Medea – Human issues are timeless, culture-less, race-less, circumstance-less, and devoid of any divisions we as humans create amongst ourselves and each other. Children always suffer as a result of bad decisions made by the parents involved, yet children come to this earth to learn their own lessons and although they be innocent, there is no toying with karma or destiny, and in essence God and His will. Playing the role of the doctor, gave the character a true objective opportunity for comment within the play. This objectivity of my character allowed the doctor to remember the importance of remaining objective without much emotional involvement, therefore being a voice of reason to Medea. In life it is so important to always remain objective and give all sides of a situation a fair hearing before offering judgement or opinion.
  2. Devadasi – A woman with a bad experience need not resort to self-pity or regret as her only escape. Even though it is so difficult to choose positivity after being through a bad experience, if one chooses hope and resilience then at least the outcome is the best one all things considered. We live in a society and culture of no accountability or responsibility. If each person looks at themselves and their actions then an abused woman can choose action that will make her not be abused again. A “victim” attitude is never going to get one anywhere. The pivotal point of the play is not for the audience to feel sorry for Deva, but to appreciate her choices, including teaching the younger girls about God, to appreciate her sense of humour despite her fate and to enjoy her dancing as her escape despite the sad circumstance under which it is practised. If deep and sensitive issues are tackled on stage, youth in our audiences can learn lessons and also have a personal connection to the character even if all they take is an enjoyment of hope or an appreciation for the dancing.
  3. Bhakti – Dance is not only a medium of showcasing Classicality, it can also be very experimentative in its exploration, and with a brave and courageous Director who is willing to take artistic risks, something new and wonderful can be created. To step out of one’s classical comfort zone does not have to take the essence of one’s art from them. In fact, it does the opposite, I found a new beauty within my Indian Classical Dance. I am no longer afraid of trying to incorporate an African Contemporary jump or contraction into a new Classical piece if it adds to the meaning and aids the complexity and skill level of the piece in question. “Bhakti” and Loots have changed my outlook on dance, and this change is the best kind.
  4. Inde Le Ndlela – Politics, the corruption within Government organizations, and the blatant arrogance and gall of certain people in power is a common, very real situation that we as a society find ourselves in. The blatancy of it all makes it comedic for us as citizens of South Africa, in that the same unaccountability I referred to earlier seems to be a general cultural and societal behavioural pattern. Certain occurrences in our country are so frustrating and embarrassing that if we don’t make the choice to laugh it off, we might die of anger, bitterness and resentment. In vast contrast to the political dispensation we as a country face, we as citizens have a very open, also blatant and deeply ironic freedom of expression in this regard. Our governmental situations fuel many artists in South Africa with subject matter to comment on and point fun at. This freedom of expression is as blatant as the political blunders and still the ones on top are completely oblivious to their own actions. This deep irony helps me in my life to be grateful for a beautiful country, beautiful people, a rainbow nation, a country coming from struggle to liberation and a freedom to comment on it all.
    “Good theatre is theatre of profound thought and profound spiritual experience.”
    – Sonia Moore

     

Without being overtly focused on the divisions which separate western and eastern theatre, I could not have come to the niche of where my understanding is now… Theatre is not a means of separation between styles, or exploitation of classics, or reverence of certain styles and not others. We have come to a place in time whereby divisions are our uniting factors and no more can a group of people be labelled as this or that, each individual on this earth has their own place, story, identity and form of expression. To be a performer is to be bold, to study your art, to refine your talent and to gauge an intellectual understanding of what you intend putting on stage and what the purpose of it is. If as a performer, one takes money from an audience member and expects their attention for the duration of that show, the performer must make sure that there is quality, substance, and valid reason for the show. If a performer is unaccountable for that piece, then it gives our entire fraternity a bad name.

As performers, we need to be responsible, and utilise our art, skills and talent to make a difference in the lives of our youth and leaders of tomorrow. Theatre is a place for communication, entertainment and education, if all three of these obligations are honoured, theatre can be a remarkable tool to facilitate change in our world.

“There are no accidents in art – only the fruits of long labour.”
– Stanislavski

Just as the ancient Greeks called drama, dramos, which means life, so should we value the lives which we decide to put on stage. There is only one chance on that stage… as a performer, that one chance is reborn on every stage, and so to be reborn once more, make the most of every chance.

“…an actor is the priest of beauty and truth.”
– Stanislavski

Bibliography

“The Stanislavski System The Professional Training of an Actor” Sonia Moore, Penguin Books, 1984.

 

“Theatre: The Lively Art” Edwin Wilson & Alvin Goldfarb, Library of Congress Cataloging, 1993.

 

“Towards a Poor Theatre” Jerzy Grotowski, Simon & Schuster, 1968.

Reflections and musings of a diasporic “Devadasi” adrift contemporary South Africa

Introduction

Being a dancer and artist is not an easy path; it plagues one with an ever searching demeanour, one which entrepreneurial drive can lead you on a meandering path forever in search of the next stop to make along the way. In attempting to make that next stop, I feel it necessary to take a reflective look at my artistic journey thus far in order to better plan as opposed to just being taken by the journey. Discovering the MA course at Rhodes University has been the true culmination of my artistic journey, application and acceptance into the program was itself a divinely guided experience. It is indeed a blessing to have the chance to now critically reflect through research and practice. In so doing, I am inspired and motivated to search further and continue on my artistic journey which I know will be both fascinating and fulfilling, as it has been thus far.

In this paper, I wish to review related literature on the appreciation of Bharatanatyam and Indian dance artists of the diaspora. I will also provide a reflective look at traditional practices versus artists who have interrogated and developed new ways of approaching traditional Indian dance practices.

Bharatanatyam as one of the eight classical dance styles of India is a highly technical and structured art form which stems from the temple dancers or devadasis in India who would dance in praise of the Hindu deities. The content of traditional Bharatanatyam has a strong mythological and religious subject matter steeped in storytelling, praise and worship of the deities. In modern times, it is necessary for accessibility of the art to be refined by constant refreshing of the classical styles in order for artists and audiences to find Bharatanatyam relatable and relevant. This indeed has been my personal experience.

My research has helped me uncover that there are many artists plagued with these issues of self-discovery, and discovering them, has helped me gain a more global perspective on developing a contemporary mind set amongst the general fraternity of traditional classical dance styles and their practicing artists. Leela Samson[1], a Bharatanatyam exponent and author from India and a Jewish-Catholic Indian, has interesting views on the classicality versus contemporary in dance. She has extensive work prevalent to this paper which I will refer to, her views on dance as a career below:

You do not merely represent the God or the wind, you become it. Martha Graham famously said, ‘Only if there is just one way to make life vivid for yourself should you embark on such a career.’ It is both tragic and fortunate that a dancer’s instrument is her body – strong yet fragile, arrogant yet emotional, intelligent yet naïve. (Samson, 2014: 7)

As a global leader of Bharatanatyam, Samson’s understanding of a dancer at grassroots level is shown clearly in her work. She has a gentle vigour to her academic work that inadvertently pushes her colleagues to criticize her. She has not been afraid to step away from unwelcoming arts circles as opposed to enduring them just for the benefit of name and fame. As a result she is highly respected by many contemporary and classical dancers all over the world. I appreciate her work as even though she is native Indian, she seems to somewhat understand the contemporary diasporic artist.

Without too much of a personal focus, my research has led me on to a very different train of thought as I had originally intended. What started out as an auto-ethnography has in fact turned out to be a reflective unravelling of an entire body of theoretical knowledge based exactly upon the so-called dilemma I thought I was facing. My “dilemma” revolves around being a South African artist in a multi-cultural society, yet having an Indian arts background, also being a diaspora and how to create sustainable art as such. To South African Indian audiences itself, Bharatanatyam is difficult to relate to. After attempting to morph with my audience needs, I tried choreography in an Indian contemporary and/or Bollywood style, which seemed to be much more in demand for broader audiences. After embarking to India on a governmental scholarship to learn kathak[2] dance, I returned to South Africa, unsatisfied at my attempts to find my roots in what I believed at the time was my motherland. In fact, what I profoundly realised through this experience is that I am in fact South African first, and Indian second. Upon returning from India, disheartened at my fate, yet grateful to be home, I discovered a private theatre college in Port Elizabeth, Stageworld, where I studied a 3 year diploma in acting, performance art and drama. This course changed my views on my art, as I started to understand the theory of acting and the power of telling a story through depth of characterization, and if using dance in between, this should forward the plot. I also found my Guru, Marlene Thomasse-Pieterse.[3] After experimenting during these three years with short production pieces of this combined style of western drama and Indian dance, a niche started to unravel before my feet. Next thing I knew, I was writing, producing and directing my own work and being invited to perform around South Africa, sometimes on my own steam to expose my work, other times being invited for Indian community festivals or events.

Having now been a lecturer at Stageworld and a practicing full-time performer for 5 years, I yearn to push myself further in search for the next step of artistic growth which the MA program has brought about.

I found myself looking harshly at Bharatanatyam, its teachers, its style and its general compass – it seemed to upset me that it has such a strong focus on aesthetics, the artistry in this art form seems encroached with an unspoken veil of “holiness” – this making its core beauty inaccessible to me, as an exponent of this very tradition. I could not gain artistic respect from Bharatanatyam Guru’s, my work was insulted by classicalists and I was being constantly shoved about as Bharatanatyam communities within South Africa could not seem to box or categorize my work. I felt alone, and isolated from my own art form which I spent almost 7 years in training for completion of the Bharatanatyam Diploma[4].

Upon embarking on research to write about the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam for the MA program, is when I discovered the work and writings of diasporic artists.

According to the World Book Dictionary, a diaspora refers to “the scattering of any group; dispersion” (Barnhart & Barnhart (Eds), 1993: 580). Unknowingly, my personal plight has been the very predicament of many other diasporic artists spread geographically all over the world, originating in race by original Indian decent. Most of these artists are in fact well respected, successful, highly talented and influential industry specialists.

Renowned UK based British Indian dancer (kathak) and award-winning choreographer of Bangladeshi decent, Akram Khan in his acclaimed productions Zero Degrees and Desh, deals with the essence of being an Indian diaspora and his experiences of returning to his motherland, India, and how these experiences of his homeland were so foreign to his being, that it caused him immense discomfort and emotional pain. He explores this yearning for belonging through these pieces. Leela Samson refers to the importance of having a contemporary mind-set within the study of a classical art form, viz. Bharatanatyam. Indian dancer, choreographer and revolutionist for contemporary Indian dance, Chandraleka and contemporary Indian dancer and activist Mallika Sarabhai share their accounts on contemporary Indian art in Professor in drama (UCLA), Ketu Katrak’s book, “Contemporary Indian Dance”. Lastly, award winning UK based Indian artist, dancer and choreographer Shobana Jeyasingh, has produced an immense body of contemporary Indian work. These avant guarde practitioners and their works are referenced and referred to in this paper.

I strive to find my own voice and space which stemmed originally from that feeling of isolation, towards a very interesting and thought provoking phenomenon which plagues diasporic Indian artists the world over.

As Leela Samson’s journey has revealed to her, “Every three hundred years, every fifty years, and every decade now, we see a new definition of classical, as we do of contemporary. As they say, ‘tradition is not what it used to be’ (Samson, 2014: 4). This step away from traditional Indian dance has been a natural process and one which chose me, rather than something which I went in search for.

This longing to challenge tradition and push artistic boundaries extends much further than Indian diaspora only; it seems to plague artists globally throughout time. It is most interesting and fascinating to note what Polish theatre director and theorist Jerzy Grotowski (1933-1999) alleges on facing one’s roots through art:

In my work as a producer, I have been tempted to make use of archaic situations sanctified by tradition, situations (within the realms of religion and tradition) which are taboo. I felt a need to confront myself with these values. They fascinated me, filling me with a sense of interior restlessness, while at the same time I was obeying a temptation to blaspheme: I wanted to attack them, go beyond them, and or rather confront them with my own experience which is itself determined by the collective experience of our time. This element of our productions has been variously called “collision with the roots”, “the dialectics of mockery and apotheosis”, or even “religion expressed through blasphemy; love speaking out through hate”. (Grotowski, 1992: 22)

    1. Area of Research: Finding a niche

Many of the artists referenced in this paper, have studied a western dance form in addition to one of the classical dance styles of India, viz. contemporary dance or ballet which they have then meshed with their Indian classical dance to create their own signature movement vocabulary which has led them to become well known for that unique niche and style. Royona Mitra, author on contemporary diasporic performer and artist, Akram Khan and his work, references professor and author John Russell Brown below:

Khan’s work is relevant to our times and self-referential. In this, he embodies the philosophy of performance-making as laid down in the Natyashastra which ‘requires performance to be grounded in the lives of performers and their audiences’ and is opposed ‘to any mode of performance laying claim to authenticity or permanent value’. (Brown, cited in Mitra, 2001: 50)

Ironically, this process of creation seemed to have occurred the opposite way for me. I have always strived towards attainment of a niche. I studied acting to combine my Indian dance (as a means to forward the plot – as in musicals) with English dialogue to create a sort of dance-drama that exposes Indian traditions through a modern interpretation of ancient and mythological stories. The productions I scripted, choreographed and produced include:

  • Divine Intervention (2012), a modern interpretation of the concept of reincarnation through time which takes a look at the deistical 10 incarnations of Lord Vishnu.
  • Devadasi – a dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets (2013)[5], which takes a look at the taboo and unspoken Devadasi tradition which is shrouded in mystery.
  • Sri Rama – a historical (2011), a one act play which shares the story of the life of a very well loved Indian deity, and His significance in the celebration of Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights.
  • Maya to Moksha – Illusion to Liberation (2011), a one act play.
  • Surya (2010) a one act play about the energy of the sun.
  • I also compiled a production called Kahlil on Love (2015) based on the work of Lebanese prophet, Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet.

These renditions served to put ancient concepts into modern understanding whereby the exposition is coupled with a relatable story line that is able to access and capture the attention of older and younger audiences of different cultural backgrounds.

This natural drift towards a cultural approach to works by artists of the diaspora is theorized below by Indian born Professor of English and American Literature and Language at Harvard University, USA, Homi Bhabha:

The borderline work of culture demands an encounter with ‘newness’ that is not part of the continuum of past and present. It creates a sense of the new as an insurgent act of cultural translation. Such art does not merely recall the past as social cause or aesthetic precedent; it renews the past, refiguring it as a contingent ‘in-between’ space, that innovates, and interrupts the performance of the present. The ‘past-present’ becomes part of the necessity, not the nostalgia, of living. (Bhabha, cited in Mitra, 2009: 49)

Chandralekha (1928-2006) describes the evolution of contemporary Indian dance, as the “in-between” space that lies between tradition and modernity; for contemporary artists this potent space of the in-between involves crossing different movement vocabularies, and other boundaries set up by nationality, ethnicity and religion. Chandralekha describes this as a personal “inward journey, a journey constantly relating, refining the reality of the in-between area; to enable tradition to flow free in our contemporary life” (Chandralekha, cited in Katrak, 2014: XVIII).

These views are echoed in my work, and I feel as if this contemporary stream can be the home for many artists who deviate from the traditional classical styles. Mine differs slightly, in that I have not mastered a western dance form, having only taken short learning courses in contemporary dance and ballet at adult level. As such, I do not play with dance styles, but rather with drama concepts and writing which explores multi-disciplinary work always involving Indian dance (my primary genre), with characterization and dialogue written in English, singing, and that it is usually one woman shows, enacted by myself[6].

    1. Bharatanatyam socio-historical perspectives: Looking back to look forward

Being a Bharatanatyam exponent, I believe I have learnt the necessary qualities and skills to successfully create my own art. As the late Medha Yodh (1927-2007), student of devadasi Balasaraswati[7] (1918-1984), who was a dancer and dance teacher at UCLA eloquently states “Bharatanatyam is a magnificent tool to centre human beings, to give them an inner sense of being and to teach them focus, poise, discipline and the integration of different arts” (Yodh, cited in Katrak, 2014: XXII). I believe the same to be true for any and all classical dance traditions, in this case though, as Katrak highlights, “Historical contextualization matters to our understanding of Contemporary Indian Dance” (Katrak, 2014: XIX).

Indian art through time has vastly been an oral tradition, with minimal continuous codification since the Natyashastra. [8] As a result the historification of Indian dance has been limited to those lucky enough to find a Guru to learn from.[9] Many of the concepts of Indian dance is unique and without easy reference to say for example, western theatre. Therefore, “Is it appropriate to use an English/Western term for an art movement in India or China or Africa without injury to the sense and sensibility of the location and practitioners of that form?” (Samson, 2014: 3). This has caused a seeming isolation for Indian dance among general western audiences. The accessibility seems limited, the understanding shielded and the connection somewhat indirect, which can be the cause of this isolation. Mallika Sarabhai comments on how she has utilised the Indian language for her contemporary creations:

We are fortunate in India to have an extremely sophisticated alphabet that has been handed down to us. For me as a twenty-first-century feminist woman to take that alphabet like the roots of a tree and to let its branches go where they want and to let the leaves fall where they will is the contemporary for me… We look into our traditions to create contemporary work that cannot be anything but Indian. (Sarabhai, cited in Katrak, 2014: XXII).

Mallika Sarabhai as activist has tackled on stage many sensitive issues plaguing the Indian societies and particularly women in productions such as Devi, Sita’s Daughters and In search of the Goddess. She has received much acclaim and honour in India and the world over, but also much criticism.[10]

  1. Challenging the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam and traditional Guru systems

“Proficiency and consistency are the hallmarks of great art. Ornamentation and impressionistic dance cannot sustain” (Samson, 2014: 7).

In its essential nature, Bharatanatyam has a strong focus on aesthetics: the 5 piece costume made specifically from an expensive kanjivaram sari[11], intricate hairstyle involving false hair in a long braid, a false hair ring bun, elaborate flowers, and of course the temple jewellery made up of a full set adorning the entire body. The eye, head, neck, hand, arm, body and feet movements are all learnt in isolation before being strung together to create intricate dance passages. These nritta[12] components need first be mastered before expression or navarasas[13] are taught. These emotive states lead to natya[14] dances which tell deistical stories involving characterization.

I believe these extremes in classical aesthetics have their place for very traditional audiences, but for current work which deconstructs, reveals, questions and interrogates, I believe these peripheral ornamentalisms are secondary. These elaborate extras are most times a hindrance physically, as there is nothing natural about false hair, or any costume that takes in excess of two hours to get into. I wish to refer to the Italian neo-classicists in imploring verisimilitude which is drama that is true to life. Can there be a combination between verisimilitude and deistical stories without infringing on realism on the one hand and classicality on the other?

I believe in creating a balance in this regard for contemporary art which can possibly be obtained by making the focus on the work, the story being told and the character’s voice. The character should dictate what he/she should wear. Costume is effective when it adds to the characters relatability as a human being first, and not if it is first and foremost a standard gaudy garment that might or might not reveal nuances of the character’s reality, viz. economic, social or geographical considerations.

Conversely, Professor Ramsay Burt interestingly points out the following in reference to the work of Akram Khan:

‘(It) initiates dialogues between modern Western aesthetic ideologies and Indian cultural traditions, but the very subject of these dialogues and the new kinds of cultural meaning which they have enabled’ (2004: 1)… he engages in this current and global dialogue between modernity and postmodernity, Western performance aesthetics and Indian tradition-bound rhetoric, and most importantly the personal and the political. (Burt, cited in Mitra 2009: 45)

These contrasting realities create much spectrum which I believe healthily challenge a broader goal of unity for the arts. As the Romanticism movement of the English dramatists of the 19th Century did, “they rejected all artistic rules, suggesting that geniuses create their own rules” (Wilson & Goldfarb, 1991: 237). If the aesthetic focus of Bharatanatyam performance is adhered to for cultural and traditional reasons, these views on the challenging of these norms support the beliefs and practices of many contemporary artists. Traditions and cultures are ever evolving as the human mind and spirit ventures towards the unknown for salvation, other than in the past where beliefs were indoctrinated into people and freedom of choice was not something commonly practiced. Samson on the issue from the Indian perspective:

It is simply a question of what your values in art are and what your philosophy is. These and numerous other categorisations based not only on historical periods, but also on religion, caste, sex, political affiliation, gharana[15], bani or style, on the colour of your skin, on whether you hail from the east or west, north or south, are rich or richer, poor or poorer – what else are we doing here but dividing ourselves on one or other of these types? It is the very thing that puts… people under intense pressure. (Samson, 2014: 4-5)

Globally, the aesthetics of Bharatanatyam seem to be in question and the once accepted norm of custom and tradition are being vastly questioned and immensely challenged. This seeking of the contemporary artist to create and develop their own style and medium has contrasted not only with the traditions and cultures but also with the teaching and learning style of classical Indian arts. Being vastly an oral tradition, the Guru has become a central figure in the practice of any classical dance form. Although highly valued in traditional Indian systems of practice, in the Mata-Pita-Guru-Devam[16] model, an unhealthy focus and pressure is placed on these Guru’s to produce a perfectly moulded classical exponent which will carry forth their particular name. This is a system that worked in the past as dancers then in turn passed on the same knowledge to their students which created a lineage system for different schools of Indian dance. For the contemporary minded artist, however, there is not much freedom artistically in this linear system. It has immense value of course, but stepping out of the lineage if chosen by the artist should not be such a taboo action in the eyes of traditionalists anymore. A contemporary artist will never reject their classical training as this always provides a solid foundation from which to create, and this fine line between contemporary artists who wish to venture out, and the respect gained by classicalists for doing so should be faced in order for more contemporary artists to flourish freely. Samson’s opinion on the issue:

On the practical level, dance requires a pretty good memory of abstract material not written down but passed on in the oral tradition, quick responses in learning and performance, an analytical approach to history, customs, rituals, theory, literature and music that are not necessarily taught in any organised fashion but handed down randomly at the will of the teacher, laborious hours of physical practice, an understanding of other art practices which your own form takes sustenance from or grew out of, and an emotional and philosophical centering that is not easily acquired and cannot be taught. Even simply in terms of controlling and using one’s own body skilfully… (Samson, 2014: 6-7)

For this view to come from an India born and based artist, one who has deep roots embedded in pure classical Bharatanatyam highlights the industry’s need to change in this regard. It is ironic, but not surprising that Samson is vastly opposed by many traditionalists in India and has faced much criticism for being a woman with such strong views.

2.1 Burden of Representation

On the opposite end of the scale, there seems to be another reality for diasporic artists to face. When performing, I have come across a general expectation (which sometimes borders on pressure) to perform to non-Indian audiences in a certain manner, one which satisfies the unintentional (somewhat ignorant) aesthetically pleasing expectation of audiences placed on Indian artists, more specifically Bharatanatyam dancers, to showcase themselves as an ornament of sorts. Whenever I perform Bharatanatyam the meaning is not gauged by audiences at all. I am left with audience comments involving aesthetics only, i.e. I love your jewellery. Where did you get it from? Your make-up is so nice. How long did it take you to get dressed? Can I take a picture with you?

It is frustrating to perform a deeply religious, intricate dance to audiences who, no matter how hard they try, cannot relate or access the value of the stories portrayed, the music and mostly the content of the Bharatanatyam language. As a result, this burden of representation somewhat removes the art from the classicality and all is wafted over the head of the audience member who is non-the-wiser. This in turn fuelled me as a diasporic artist to try something new, to change the focus to what would access and gauge the audience’s appreciation as per any and all other types of performances which they would pay their money to witness. Leela Samson passionately comments on this morph from classicality to contemporary and the negativity it might have to encounter:

Is there not a smack of prejudice… when the apex body decides who may be called classical, who contemporary? Because the categories were made at some point, we then become victims of such a list… I can be traditional, classical, neo-classical, modern, contemporary and anything else you wish to categorise me as, depending upon what your own understanding of these terms are, where you are coming from, what is your sanskaara[17], and how much you know about me or my work. I will not be boxed in by a limited estimation of me or my form. (Samson, 2014: 4)

I take this burden of representation as a personal fuel to erase this seemingly shallow perception of Indian dance in general. To remove the unnecessary aesthetics and reveal the real. As a diaspora, my art needs to be first and foremost accessible – as an agent for education, removal of stereotypes and mostly expositionist of the mysticism of the Hindu traditions. As Leela Samson alleges:

We refuse to acknowledge the layered and pluralistic character of people, faiths, their realities and cultural practices. It is this that has caused such untold suffering to people born long after Partition, but who carry wearily the burden of that legacy? (Samson, 2014: 5)

2.2 Fusion or confusion?

Where does fusion fit into all of this? Is fusing Indian art a way of removing these aesthetic ideals? Doesn’t fusion simply create confusion?

A natural starting point for a diasporic dance artist to expose their art has generally seemed to be through a fusion with various native cultures and their dance or art forms. In Port Elizabeth specifically, and South Africa generally, this was certainly the starting point for exposition of Indian arts especially post 1994 (Formal date of abolition of apartheid). Indian artists strove to form a part of the newly politically conceptualized rainbow nation by meshing Indian styles with other South African dance styles. This was a beautiful starting point for the Indian diasporic artist in South Africa.

Similarly, in the UK, Mitra on observation of Khan and his “confusion”, points out the following:

It would be fair to observe that while a contemporary and recurrent trend in… performance is to trace (this) hybrid reality by ‘contemporizing classicism’, not all such endeavours are successful. Commonly termed as ‘fusion’, such experiments reinforce the existence of classicism alongside contemporary systems and often lack deliberation and depth. These primarily formal experiments do not pursue in depth the sociological issues at stake. The result is often superficial, representing a world where different language systems coexist without the potential to penetrate each other. For many, the point of collisions between tradition and postmodernity remain just so. Collisions: never attaining mutual growth and remaining irreconcilable. I propose that for such endeavours to succeed, an intellectual understanding of the corporeal and cerebral embodiment of diaspora must accompany any formalist experimentation… the body for Khan is both the source of narrative and the primary medium of communication that transcends technique. And his expression lies in his artistic articulation of diaspora as not ‘fusion’ but ‘confusion’ – a condition that he deems as empowering, transient, evolving and positively embracing multiplicity. This has little or no traces whatsoever of the pain and nostalgia of diaspora of the past…Khan celebrates… ‘confusion’ and uses it artistically to articulate this ‘self’, instead of lamenting about his hybrid condition. (Mitra, 2009: 47)

The experimental fusion attempts by artists as an initial step towards contemporary art seems to be a temporary phase which cannot provide much depth of creation, unless full works are developed and made through this fusion style by combining and creating new movement languages. But if two dancers are retaining in entirety the essence of their own style and each moving in their own way to one piece of music, this is merely a cut-and-paste aesthetic method which might seemingly show cultural unity, but not much artistic depth or integrity.

  1. The Indian diasporic artist

Many Indian nationals found it necessary to venture to the west when colonialism in India dwindled opportunities to make a successful living in the mother land. As such, the diaspora spread to areas all over the west where they mostly ventured into various trades. Durban, South Africa, having the second largest population of Indians outside of India, is where Indians were brought down mostly as slaves on the sugarcane farm fields of Natal. This was not without its price on, at the time, untold manifestations for the handful of Indian artists who chose to practise art in the west. In order to deeper understand the diasporic mind, particularly through dance and art; I refer to various academics and authors below.

Author Parm Kaur articulates the tension that took over UK Indian diasporic artist, Shobana Jeyasingh and her artistic vision as she began to rationalize the place for the prescriptive language of Bharatanatyam, and summarizes:

It was impossible for Jeyasingh to use her known language of Bharatanatyam, as she was occupying a different physical, social, political and aesthetic space. I.e. Britain and her position in Britain as a post-colonial subject, within the context of stylistic changes in (the) contemporary dance scene happening around her, as well as her own fascination for the intellectualism of dance (N.D.). (Kaur, cited in Mitra, 2009: 43)

I can deeply relate to this phenomenon. Author and Doctor Alessandra Lopez y Royo observes this growing tension in the practice of many contemporary British Asian dancers and choreographers who, like Jeyasingh, have started to question the role of classicism in their current globalized existences. She claims, thus, that some contemporary diasporic artists are consciously embracing Western models of neoclassicism within their practice after a period of engagement with (and for some alongside) post-modern features of rupture and hybridity in order to look for ways to ‘reclaim their artistic freedom and integrity and actively participate as interlocutors in British dance discourse’ (Lopez y Royo, cited in Mitra, 2009: 43).

Dramaturg Grehan Helen comments that diasporic studies have theorized the in-between identity by putting forward several oppositional models:

Undertaking a journey from their homeland to a place of settlements, diasporic subjects are characterized by heterogeneity, experiencing a lack of identification with one singular space. When the homeland and the host culture are linked painfully by a history of colonialism… diaspora becomes a consequence of postcolonial anxiety. In these cases, the diasporic condition becomes a complex projection of upholding a nationalist identity and an authentic link with the past. Therefore… diaspora was constructed and experienced as a condition of pain, trauma, nostalgia and a yearning for the ‘homeland’. Professor of English Literature, Vijay Mishra sums this up ‘as a particular condition of displacement and disaggregation’ (Grehen, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46).

Author Royona Mitra summarizes opposing diasporic ideals, starting with Professor in dance, Andree Grau who supports the view above in saying that diaspora is not nostalgically but organically linked to ‘home’: ‘Diaspora and home are not separate identities and any line of division between them is artificial and thus permeable’ (2003). In tandem, Stuart Hall theorizes diaspora as a transient body of people, who reject categorization and seek articulation of identity (Rojek, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46). Homi Bhabha conceptualizes the in-betweenness of this hybrid condition to exist in the ‘third space’, which is ‘such a form of liminal or in-between space’, where the ‘cutting edge of translation and negotiation occurs’ (Meredith, cited in Mitra, 2009: 46). Bhabha sees the diaspora occupying this space harbouring dynamism and engendering ‘new possibility’ and conceptualizes the empowered liminality of the third space as ‘the space of intervention emerging in the cultural interstices that introduces creative invention into existence’. This is far from the traumatic and painful construction of the diaspora of the past, as we know it. Grehen acknowledges that this conceptual shift in the experience of diaspora ‘raises a number of important questions about the role of the subject in this process… how is the body marked or inscribed by this journeying and how does the diasporic subject inscribe him/herself within/on the landscapes s/he traverses?’. Placing the lived body at the centre of discourse, Grehen calls upon postmodern notions of embodiment and corporeality as conceptual means to analyse the role subjectivity in the articulation of diaspora (Mitra, 2009: 46).

This in-between space as referred to above is my isolation theorized, and a place where the very crack between societies is my home. I strive to dig deeper into this crack in creation of my niche.

On a more practical level, referring to the choreographic work Zero Degrees by Akram Khan, Mitra comments that by moving the diasporic experience from race (or nation) specific tropes and by working with global artists who are not bound to national or cultural borders, Khan constructs a multiplicity of identities as empowered existences in today’s global world and urges classicists and purists to reject the notions of authenticity and homogeneity and recognize them as obsolete concepts (Mitra, 2009: 47). In this fascinating production, Khan takes these very theories on diaspora and explores them through a captivating story involving intricate contemporary dance moves, dialogue, human-sized life dolls, a dual 3D stage, music and an enchanting unity of action. I was privileged to find this entire production online.

That the production Zero Degrees is on the very topic of diaspora, Mitra once again comments on Akram Khan and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui (Moroccan diasporic artist and fellow choreographer in this piece) below:

…while diasporic identity may historically have been made to feel absent from the discourse of presence, the very acknowledgement of this absence makes the dancers’ presence a significant aspect of the discourse in both temporal and spatial terms. (RM p 52)

In summary, Katrak comments as follows on the economics, resources and avenues available to the diasporic artist, in a positive light:

Change in geographical location may provide a dancer with access to different movement techniques, to new technologies of light, sound and multimedia facilities, to funding avenues and infrastructure support with the presence or absence of rasikas and sahrdayas (art appreciators with a sympathetic heart…) Relocation plays an influential role in the direction that Contemporary Indian Dancers take to explore contemporary themes like ethnicity, gender and sexuality, the environment, the use of dance as movement therapy for victims of violence, for the representation of social issues such as women’s status and oppression, for the portrayal of political realities in India like communal-based violence, or for dealing with deeply personal matters of sexuality. (Katrak, 2014: XXI)

This is indeed true. That crack wherein diasporic artists fit, seems to be in exact perfection considering what these artists have accomplished. My yearning has brought me here and now that I know my place, there are others like me, and though seemingly alone, we are all, as per the theory above, the same.

  1. Spirituality and Bharatanatyam

I have a spiritually seeking soul. This seeking has always given me answers, and even though the questions are harder to hear, and the answers bring more questions, I hope to seek for as long as my soul allows. Through performance, this seeking, I believe is vastly sped up. Through playing a character, there is a human lesson to be learnt by stepping into another’s shoes, that may not have occurred had that character not been given to you to learn that exact lesson. I believe strongly in universal laws, and therefore I believe that art is a deeply spiritual practice. To substantiate and corroborate my claim, I reference below, similar viewpoints on the spirit of the dancer.

“Many people have a common perception that dance is merely physical. In fact a dancer who has a true calling, an inherent perception beyond the physicality of her training, evolves to another level of consciousness” (Samson, 2014: 6).

For the contemporary in art to be born out of classical training, especially in a diaspora, I believe that a soul is called, from deep within, to follow, seek, and yearn for a unique form of expression. This calling is indeed an important element for contemporary art to evolve, yet the spirit cannot be boxed or guided, it has its own direction:

Categories are the bane of our existence! They lack a generosity of spirit. They are technical terms that have little to do with people. I do not wish to be called a ‘classical’ dancer if that title turns people away, if the very purpose of the dance is defeated, if it suggests an exclusivity that is not me and if it is not of the people. (Samson, 2014: 3)

The contemporary artist, I believe is a follower of freedom and expression, not seeking to challenge traditions or infringe on cultural norms. It is not that the product made is done so with the sole purpose of upsetting and unsettling classicality, but rather to honour it, by honouring their artistic journey. These yearnings have pushed immense work out of these industry leaders and they are indeed an invaluable stream of east meets west, contemporizing classicality and creating unique works of explorative, identifying work. Is this not what art is for?

Lastly on this topic, Leela Samson on her spiritual understanding of dance, refers to the Rig Veda: [18]

two birds living in the same tree. One…partakes, who tastes and enjoys the fruits of the tree. The other bird… simply watches, contemplates. The (first is)…caught in the web of life, in the varying gait of its joys and sorrows… The dancer is often seen as the (first bird), enmeshed in life, longing for completeness, yearning for something beyond the parameters of the self. I ask myself whether this is so because her art is visually set in the physical realm. During a performance the audience, and perhaps the dancer too, is compelled to ask, ‘Who is the dancer? What is the dance? Can the two be separated?’ On one level, the physical beauty of the dance and the dancer, her technical virtuosity, the grace of her gestures and the brilliance of her apparel, enrapture the viewer. But dance is also emotional, for what is life or art without feelings, and the expression of those feelings? It is a reflection not only of life, but of the culture and aesthetic of a nation, expressed through literature, song, architecture, design, colour and rhythm, as also through a strong sense of individualism. The connection between the individual ego and these elements in nature outside of the self, that are beyond rational assessment – that require perhaps an element of contemplation – has been a challenge to every artist through millennia. I believe that the arts are at one level purely personal, where the ego of the artist is present, as in a painting or in a performance. And yet art has a function in the social sphere and must reflect that at some level. (Samson, 2014: 6)

What more is there to say? I am grateful for these answers of guidance, for surely the higher power, or the spirit within knows what one needs when one needs it, and always provides.

  1. The creativity in contemporary work

In my opinion, for contemporary to flourish, a key component is for it to be ingeniously creative. Something so unique, that its signature style becomes the artists medium and language, one which renders audiences to become accustomed to not knowing what a new production might entail. This requires immense creativity not only in the movement itself, but certainly in thought, conceptualization, choreography, use of dialogue, multimedia, and definitely extends into music or sound score, props and ingenuity of space, as advocated by Katrak, “In the explosion of creative choreography by Contemporary Indian Dancers in India and the diaspora, artists engage with and transform Indian traditional dance in multiple avenues” (Katrak, 2014: XVIII). Rasa (emotions or expression in Indian dance) is interestingly analysed by Katrak from a contemporary standpoint. In the Natyashastra it remains a

psychological-physical realm of emotion and taste, and within an aesthetic-spiritual realm of transcendence ( when an aesthetic experience reaches its highest level in transporting the performer into an extra-human realm and taking the audience with him/her. In contemporary times, rasa, evoked by the self-reflexivity of contemporary artists includes both emotion and thought; the gaps in-between emotion and thought are filled by raising social awareness in certain choreographies about gender inequality, or challenging stereotypes of sexuality or nation. The artist, via rasa, leads the audience into socially located engagements that no longer only have the goal of transcendence; rather, the affect now translates into accompanying an artist’s portrayal of social ills such as domestic violence or the denial of female sexuality. (Katrak, 2014: XXI)

5.1 Advocating the importance of education in performing arts

If this calibre of creativity is to be cultivated, I believe a strong injection of drama, dance or performance training should be brought into the educational system. To develop a fully articulate artistic mind of such a creative, these classical trainings should begin at a young age which will develop the foundations needed for successful artistic practice after tertiary studies. There is a lot of interest and passion for the arts, but not much training or development at school level age, especially in the more rural areas of South Africa. On education and dance, throughout time, the arts have not really been important in education, generally speaking. Samson comments on this referencing the Indian education systems:

From the time of Gandhi[19], Tagore[20], Aurobindo[21], Vallathol[22], Vishnu Digamber Paluskar[23], Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay[24] and Rukmini Devi[25], each in his or her own way suggested that the new systems of education resulted in the de-prioritisation of the then extant indigenous systems of education – like the tols, the pathshalas, the gurukulams[26], the madrasas[27] and the monasteries in India, as also the variety of systems of transmitting knowledge, skills and technique. I quote Dr Kapila Vatsyayan on the subject:

…To integrate the rich and diverse living traditions of our cultural heritage with formal systems of education is still a dream for many of us. These stalwarts believed that unless there was equity between the creativity of the hand, the intellectual critical discriminating mind and a pulsating heart, a total human being would not be possible. (Samson, 2014: 7)

On a global scale, this is an area of education greatly needing attention. With the recent #feesmustfall debacle in South Africa, there is much upheaval within the youth of our country. Our political situation does not advocate for upgraded education systems and as a result, art always falls to the bottom of the priority list. Having worked in the capacity of research and development towards a formalised dance course at the Nelson Mandela University, under the guidance of current Dean of Arts, Professor Rose Boswell, it was indeed sad and futile to have lost a contract renewal due to there being insufficient funding after the zero fee increase of the institution for the 2017 academic year. All of the research and funding propelled into this project, I hope will not go to waste in my absence. This point highlighting the arts falling to the back of all priority lines.[28]

On another point within education and dance, Samson highlights the challenges faced by the arts fraternity when scholars versus practitioners are in question. The lasting development of intellectualism and performance art at a post-grad tertiary and scholarly level:

At a micro level, the divide between the great practitioners and the scholar/researcher remains a reality, to the detriment of good writing on the arts. The scholar and the practitioner claim to understand the art, but discover its technique and creativity rather differently. And yet both have to experience that slow burn and the relentless rigour that makes the work worthwhile either on stage or in books. The scholar does his research from the confines of a particular socio-political construct. More and more of them can be seen occupying centre stage at seminars of dance worldwide. On the other hand, the creative impulse seems to draw the best performers away from scholarship. The dancer having to explain her art is bad enough! Her having to be the guru and scholar is I think an unnecessary burden on all of us. That the dancer takes herself so seriously in these roles, as perhaps I do, is another matter – and, some would say detrimental to the dance scenario! It throws bad dancers, less-informed scholars and terrible teachers into the fray. (Samson, 2014: 8)

The challenges plaguing our fraternity are indeed macro, and to highlight them, is the start, I believe, to tackling them.

On bringing through an educative purpose via art itself, Mitra refers to the work of Khan, once again in Zero Degrees “…at the heart of Khan’s practice lies not a formalist but a content-driven approach that examines the nuances of diasporic life” (Mitra, 2009: 45). “…tradition and postmodernity can indeed be in creative dialogue in an organic and moving way (Mitra, 2009: 51). “…by not entering the mode of repetition and reproduction, by rejecting categorization of his practice within existent terminology and by accepting the open-endedness of each creative project as new and challenging and vulnerable, Khan’s embodiment of diaspora is in the process of being written, forever shifting, always in transmission (Mitra, 2009: 58-59). This highlighting the ever evolving and challenging nature of attempting social change through art.

  1. Conclusion

The views of theorists and artists of the Indian diaspora referenced in this paper form a spine from where I now wish to grow my own vertebra. Many interesting ideas have unfolded answering some of my questions, and sometimes creating more questions. This seeming confusion is the very fuel for the diasporic artist wherein a home and niche can be found.

Khan echoes this sentiment:

To bring together… diverse cultures, experiences and voices is a… reflection of what I am today, which is to be in a state of ‘confusion’: where boundaries are broken, languages of origin are left behind instead, individual experiences are pushed forward to create new boundaries (ibid.)…Khan is thus undoubtedly a product of his environment and the work he creates is a clear extension of his multi-layered, lived and learnt experience. (Mitra, 2009: 44)

How do we inculcate change into an indoctrinated art form? How can contemporary art be welcomed by a somewhat dogmatic body of traditions? Why is experimental Indian theatre seemingly taboo, especially when facing social or historically sensitive issues? Embracing change for the sake of artistic continuity seems like a logical progression for now.

Katrak offers her view below:

Traditional Indian dance is the thread that underlies the trajectory of changes; while some artists stay close to traditional idioms changing the externals such as costumes and music, others transform the traditional vocabulary from the inside, along with creatively bringing in other movement styles to make new hybrid work… Playing with tradition is effective for someone who has mastered the form and can innovate, re-conceptualize and choreograph new dance items. (Katrak, 2014: XIX)

Classical dance’s foundation is the through line for a successful diasporic Indian artist and although this taboo experimentation is challenged at times, these very challenges have pushed the diasporic artist to invent something that was not there before. T. Balasaraswati, as quoted by Ketu Katrak on the tradition of Bharatanatyam having so much depth and complexity that it allows a dancer’s “Wings (to) soar to the very skies of freedom… It is freedom through discipline, not freedom from discipline. (Katrak, 2014: XIX)

Distinguishing art is never the answer, for unity comes through the diversity of individualism, especially in previously colonized or modern multi-racial societies. There can be no lines of division amongst artists creating something to preserve classical Indian art while meshing it with their diasporic experience.

Leela Samson on the topic, “While some artists are simply typed as classical, others wish to be seen as contemporary, some declare they are neo-classical and others modern” (Samson, 2014: 3). “What was modern in 1947 was classified as classical in the 1970’s and has metamorphosed into another expression in these past decades. Can a dancer in the present not express in a classical way?” (Samson, 2014: 4). Samson continues below in reference to the Indian sub-continent:

While we celebrate our diversity, how does democracy deal with issues of difference? Is it not the same in the social, multi-lingual and multi-religious fabric of our nation as it is in the arts – that are perfect symbols of these varied cultures? Secularism rejects inequalities and celebrates diversity… Sadanand Menon questions the use of the term ‘tradition’. He says ‘tradition’ is a non-religious category in the Indian lexicon and gained currency only in the context of the Indian freedom struggle at the turn of the nineteenth century, when clichéd binaries like tradition versus modernity, change versus continuity, unity versus diversity, etc., came into play. (Samson, 2014: 4-5)

Although this view is of India itself, there is a through-line for me as an Indian diasporic artist in South Africa. Superficially, the obvious unifying factor is the Indian-ness, besides the diasporic issue, taking a deeper look; the unifying factor might simply be that we are all human and therefore more similar than we think.

Mitra’s views in reference to Khan, “That his presence in British contemporary dance has significantly challenged pre-existent frameworks and subsequently demanded the acknowledgement of a new identity for the genre is now an undeniable reality” (Mitra, 2009: 59).

As Heraclitus famously said, “Change is the only constant.” For change, artists need bravery, profound skill in their chosen art form and a spirit that seeks to revolutionize their art. If these factors serve as the fuel to create, then overcoming the challenges faced by challenging traditions and norms will be a peripheral bonus achieved from creating work. We face further obstacles in art when social, political and structural ideals clash with the upliftment, respect and belief in art having capabilities to infuse positivity and growth on society, starting with the youth. In an ever-plagued world, our soul needs impression, whether through a creative art form, or simply a creatively stimulated imagination. With more creativity amongst our society, creative leaders can plague immense social change.

  1. Bibliography

Bhabha, H. (1994). The location of culture. London: Routledge.

Brown, J. (2001). Voices of reform in South Asian theatre. New theatre quarterly, 17(1), 45-53.

Chandralekha. (1984). Reflections on new directions in indian dance. National centre for the performing arts (NCPA) quarterly journal, XIII(2), 60-64.

Grotowski, J. (1992). Towards a poor theatre. London: Michelin House.

Katrak, K. (2014). Contemporary indian dance: New creative choreography in India and the diaspora. USA: Palgrave MacMillan.

Mitra, R. (2009). Dancing embodiment, theorizing space: Exploring the ‘third space’ in Akram Khan’s Zero Degrees. In A. Lepecki & J. Joy (Eds), Planes of composition: Dance, theory, and the global (pp. 40-63). Calcutta: Seagull Books.

Samson, L. (2014). Classical Dance in Contemporary India. Social Scientist, 42(5/6), 3-18. Retrieved July 4, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24372985

Wilson, E. & Goldfarb, A. (1991). Theatre: The lively art. USA: Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data.

  1. Samson was Director of Kalakshetra (2005-2012), Indian arts academy founded by Rukmini Devi Arundale in 1936. Samson was also the Chairperson of the Central Board of Film Certification in 2011. She subsequently resigned from both these roles.
  2. Another one of the eight classical dance styles of India, stemming from North India.
  3. Thomasse-Pieterse is Principal and owner of Stageworld.
  4. This was done through Geetanjali Academy of Arts in Port Elizabeth. There was an affiliation to Vadhini School of Dance in Cape Town founded by Savitri Naidoo who opened this sister school in Port Elizabeth in 1987.
  5. I subsequently wrote two more plays in the Devadasi (2013) series, viz. Devadasi – The Prequel (2014) and A Devadasi in Love? (2017). These three plays tell different stories from the life of one particular devadasi named “Deva” in a modern interpretation.
  6. Divine Intervention (2012) is the only production of mine thus far which included other performers. It was a fusion piece combining ballet and Bharatanatyam. It wasn’t directly intentional that most of my works are one-hander’s, it just seems easier and most affordable to work this way at this stage in my career.
  7. Original temple dancer.
  8. Treatise on dance by Bharata Muni dated to between 200BCE and 200CE.
  9. More on this in Section 2 of this paper.
  10. Sarabhai as received the Padma Bhushan award which is the 3rd highest civilian award in the Republic of India. She holds a Doctorate in Organisational Behaviour and played the role of “Draupadi” in Peter Brooke’s Mahabarata amongst many other television, stage and film productions. She is also a politician.
  11. Elaborate pure mulberry silk sarees with thick borders and brightly coloured.
  12. Pure dance.
  13. Nine emotive states of Bharatanatyam include: shringara (love/beauty), hasya (laughter), karuna (sorrow), roudra (anger), veera (heroism/courage), bhayanaka (fear), bhibatsya (disgust), adbhuta (surprise/wonder), shanta (peace).
  14. Interpretive dance.
  15. Gharana refers to where a dance style comes from, ie. Kathak dance has different gharanas based on geography, ie. Lucknow gharana, Jaipur gharana and Benares gharana.
  16. A Hindu concept where above oneself in hierarchy is ones parents, then the Guru, then God. The Guru is even higher in respect and adoration than ones parents.
  17. Sacraments
  18. Once of the four sacred canonical texts of Hinduism known as the Vedas.
  19. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, known as Mahatma Gandhi (born in 1869) was leader of the Indian independence movement against British rule, a lawyer and revolutionist until he was assassinated in 1948.
  20. Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) first non-European to win a Nobel Prize for literature, author, composer of Indian National Anthem Jana Gana Mana.
  21. (1872-1950) Hindu philosopher.
  22. (1878-1958) South Indian poet.
  23. (1872-1931) Hindustani musician.
  24. (1903-1988) Indian social reformer and freedom fighter.
  25. (1904-1986) Bharatanatyam dancer, choreographer and founder of Kalakshetra, the first formalised school of Bharatanatyam since the devadasis in India.
  26. Type of residential schooling system In India where the student resides with the Guru.
  27. Arabic school.
  28. The irony lies in that alleged millions of rands was then spent to change the name of the institution from Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University to Nelson Mandela University, coupled with a complete re-branding of the institution. All this during a time of national turmoil within the tertiary education sector.
Exploring the parallels between: An analysis of shared experiences between the writer and the female protagonist in the one-woman series, The Devadasi Trilogy

Introduction

Julia Cameron in her book The right to write: An invitation and initiation into the writing life, suggests:
We should write because it is human nature to write. Writing claims our world. It makes it directly and specifically our own. We should write because humans are spiritual beings and writing is a powerful form of prayer and meditation, connecting us both to our own insights and to a higher and deeper level of inner guidance. We should write because writing brings clarity and passion to the act of living. Writing is sensual, experiential, grounding. We should write because writing is good for the soul. We should write because writing yields us a body of work, a felt path through the world we live in. We should write, above all, because we are writers, whether we call ourselves that or not. (Cameron, 2000: back cover)
The Devadasi Trilogy is a one woman series that I wrote, as Cameron notes, as a way to connect to my “own insights” and to a “higher and deeper level of inner guidance” thereby using the art of writing as a means to explore and understand my own life, as well as the world around me (Cameron, 2000: back cover).
The Devadasi Trilogy is set in India during the period of the British Raj. The first two plays (Born in blood and A journey from the temple to the streets) were re-worked from existing plays I had written prior to formal MA studies; and the third play (A Devadasi in Love?) was written for the creative component of my MA. The trilogy seeks to explore topics related to female sexuality and how these issues are tackled through the creation of the protagonist, Deva – a devadasi living in India during the early 20th century. I will discuss the devadasi tradition in greater detail in section two of this paper. Referring to the Julia Cameron quotation above; in my writing of the Devadasi trilogy there is great emphasis on spirituality both for the protagonist of the trilogy, Deva, and for me as the writer. Many spiritual insights have been revealed to me through this reflective practice – some were conscious explorations of certain spiritual concepts and ideas which I uncovered through the writing and creation of my protagonist. Others were unconscious, or indirect, ideas I would not have necessarily explored, had it not been for my writing of the trilogy; and this paper.

Having the chance to reflect upon, unpack and explore one’s own creative process is a valuable chance to consider and analyse used stimuli, inspiration, motivation, and to help in understanding one’s own work in developing a creative voice, thereby attempting to create a niche in the global arts industry. In contrast, it is also a highly challenging task, to reflect on one’s own work, for it requires a detachment and a kept objectivity when considering your creation. For the writing of this reflective report, I asked myself the following: How do I establish a research question when reflecting on my own work? What is it that I want to say or achieve through my work? And then, to what end is my creative work fuelling an academic study?
When researching a topic for the purpose of writing about it, such as the devadasis and the British Raj; one is open to discover, to learn and to broaden personal viewpoints. Researching for an understanding of one’s own writing and its effects on the self as individual and as a writer, and then of course possible effects on the audience, has proven to be a valuable and growth stimulating exercise in that this process of practice-led research has enabled me, as the writer, to contextualise many personal lessons through the creation of this trilogy. On practice-as-research, David George notes “experience is also a form of knowledge gained as first hand, knowledge gained from praxis” (George, cited in Nelson, 2006: 110). This process of knowledge gained through reflective practice has proved immensely powerful for me as a writer, and has spurred about many interesting trains of thought which I document in this paper.
Through reference of the Devadasi Trilogy I will focus upon the main topic of how the creating of narratives is “central to the ways in which people ‘make sense of their experience and interpret the social world’” (Pickering, cited in Liddy, 2015: 601). The Devadasi Trilogy is inspired by my own life and some of my pivotal life experiences. This is also coupled with my career as a dancer, being somewhat akin to that of the devadasi, which allowed for an interesting parallel and utilisation of the richly mysterious, fascinating and sad devadasi tradition as a setting for these fictional recreations of this period in history. To create a balance, I wrote this trilogy with the dialogue being
interspersed with dance pieces which gives the trilogy its aesthetic appeal. Dance as a highly choreographed, practised and prepared art form; contrasted with the life of the protagonist and the inconsistency, learning curves, experiences and nature of the unknown inherent in living. The trilogy is not at all the actual narrative of my life portrayed in the writing, but more of an experienced understanding of some life occurrence or series of occurrences put through a fictional account, of course being dramatised for stage effect.
There can be no portrayal without understanding first. This realisation came through the process of reflection, an in-depth analysis of lessons learnt and then an analysis into how this can be morphed into a lesson or story worthy for presentation on the stage. In this paper, I focus upon the writer-character connection and how I correlated my own life experiences, as the writer, with those of Deva’s – how these conjunctions sparked my creativity and how the character’s experiences hold more importance for me as the writer as a result of this methodology, as opposed to, if I had created the character with purely fictional experiences.
In section four of this research report, I give an in-depth analysis of the three plays in order to further reveal the parallels and overlaps between the writer and the protagonist. I will further discuss narratives in relation to the following: writing as a means of understanding one’s life experiences; and writing as a means of sharing one’s understanding of experiences through a fictional account which renders play for the creation of distance between the writer and the experience, therefore giving new perspective and light to the understanding as well as being able to share them so that audiences can enjoy the benefit of these lessons learnt by the writer and hopefully learn from them too. Lawler (in Liddy, 2015: 601) has noted that “narratives circulate socially as cultural and social resources”. This quotation is relevant to my study since the devadasi tradition is vast in contrasting interpretations. I intended through the writing of this trilogy to leave audiences with a story about the devadasi tradition that will inform audiences on some general history of the tradition, as well as give them an insight into the realities of the tradition even though it is through a fictional account – that of Deva’s. In finality, I wish to account for a greater purpose for this work to reach the light of the stage – as a mechanism to channel positivity towards sexual experiences for women and in turn men by shining a light on sexuality in Indian cultural practises through the devadasi tradition. This discussed in Section 2, c of this paper – for the purpose of attempting to leave audiences with a reflective look at their own sexuality, and their views on sexuality and women.

2. The devadasi

Below, I present a historical and contextual account of the devadasis and the trilogy.

a. Context and history of the devadasi tradition

The devadasi tradition is shrouded in mystery, ambiguity, some deference and contrasting confusion. It is important to bear in mind that the tradition varies from state to state in India, considering there are eight distinct classical dance styles stemming from various geographical areas in India, as well as developing and morphing traditions which altered according to variations such as language, culture, climate, economics and certainly era.
In reference to bharata natyam, which was previously called dassiatam, Phadke alleges that the devadasi was a woman who was wedded to the main idol of the temple and dance was her path to worship. It was a familial system, whereby only those following familial lines were allowed into the performing and learning space. Teaching was usually done by males belonging to the family of the devadasi’s (Phadke, 2015, 1).
In chapter five of Ringdal’s (2004) Love for Sale, A world History of Prostitution, entitled, “Hindu Ambiguity”, he describes that the devadasis had a multi-function within the Indian society:

Young girls looked after India’s temples and pagodas; adult women coddled the Gods, much as daughters and wives did for their men at home, or as court ladies cared for the princes in their palaces. Every morning the temple girls sang and danced to honour the God; during the day they swept and cleaned, and fanned the images of the Gods so that they would not grow hot in the heat of the day. In the evening they again sang and danced for the God; they were a joy and an inspiration for earthly men who visited the temples. (Ringdal, 2004: 77)

Kersenboom describes the devadasi and her role as one which is ritualistic in nature. In comparison to the more abstract, quiescent principles associated with a (male) god, the (female) goddess is said to be creative in her ability to remove the evil eye that consumes everything:

The dynamic principle (of the female goddess) can be both destructive and protective. An excess of dynamism destroys; properly harmonized, however, it creates, nourishes and protects. A method was devised for controlling this dynamism from within: the creation of a female ritualist whose power (sakti) could be ritually merged with that of the great goddess (Sakti)… the Devadasi was such a ritualist. (Kersenboom, 2004: 136)

Similarly, following the tantric logic, De Bruin describes “the Goddess, of whom the Devadasi is a living embodiment, is the active power and source of fertility moving towards her human devotees” (De Bruin, 2007: 71). As much as her devadasi duties and way of life was for her own worship, the value of her life and power was greatly valued, utilised and needed by the community people.
Kersenboom then describes the process involved in the validation and ordination of a devadasi and this includes an initiation ceremony, involving the worship of her ankle bells1, a marriage ceremony to the chosen deity, a dedicative branding, either by tattoo or heated metal which, if it heals well, is a symbol of purity. The traditional view holds that all women, by their very nature, share in the power of the goddess.
To further reiterate the devadasi as a respected woman in society, Kersenboom (2004: 137) describes in the imagined continuum of auspiciousness (mangalam), individual women are placed at one end of the scale or the other according to their status. At the top is the married woman whose husband is alive and who has borne several children: she is called “auspicious woman” (sumangali). At the bottom of the scale is the widow for she is considered highly inauspicious. In ritual terms, however, the devadasi exceeds even the sumangali auspiciousness. Two reasons are given for this. First, her individual female powers are merged with those of the goddess. Second, she is dedicated to a divine husband who can never die. Since she can never lose her (double) auspiciousness, she is called ‘ever auspicious’ (nityasumangali).


1 This practice differs from school to school – in my own experience and training: A dancer ceremoniously takes blessings from her ankle bells each time before she wears them to dance. There is also an initiation ceremony at the start of a dancer’s career where the teacher or Guru blesses the dancer’s bells, ties them around her ankles, and then the dancer stamps on rice which senior dance students assist her in balancing on, while she does so.

According to De Bruin, the devadasi system in North Tamil Nadu even pervaded the caste system and occurred at all levels of society,

However, it seems to have been practised on a larger scale by persons at the middle and higher, economically viable, strata of the rural society, perhaps because the custom and its patronage required financial input in the form of training expenses and the upkeep of the devadasi women. (De Bruin, 2007: 57)

De Bruin supports Kersenboom, by sharing her research gained from first-hand experience of devadasi, Tirumati M. Dhanammal:

Rural devadasis appear to have been instrumental in activating, representing, and containing dangerous sacred power, which accompanies the increased presence of the Goddess. They did so through their handling of ritual and dramatic services and through their own ‘presence’ or ‘being’ in the form of their life-long state as women dedicated to and merged with the Goddess. (De Bruin, 2007: 60)

According to De Bruin, the performance practices of devadasis indicates that they in fact were living substitutes or fragments of the Goddess. One of the last practicing devadasis who gave up her profession in 1973 due to family pressures, “Dhanammal described herself as ‘belonging to the Goddess’, as ‘an integral part of the Goddess’, ‘serving the Goddess’, and ‘being in bondage to the Goddess’” (De Bruin, 2007: 69).

“Her (Dhanammal’s) biography also testifies to the fact that modern society failed to provide a category for devadasi women who, through their alliances with their patrons, defied the caste system and the idealized picture of the Hindu domestic woman” (De Bruin. 2007: 54).

Social circumstance – that is British colonialism, affected the devadasi and her standing in the community. Many devadasis were shunned into prostitution. The colonialists usurped the kingdoms and polluted the temple systems. These women who were noted for their wisdom and personal freedom did not seem to have the choice of whether or not to then enter into prostitution. If they did choose prostitution, perhaps this was due to extreme desperation or enforcement on the part of corrupt officials. Some or even the majority did fall prey to prostitution for whatever reason as a last resort, how and why they were all subjugated into such a broad category socially and historically is unknown. Is it because they were women? Or is it because they were dancers? Perhaps, because they were both? I cannot see this being very far removed from modern times. De Bruin supports this theory and this investigation:

While the ‘sexual content’ of the devadasi tradition, and the way it reacted to the impact of modernity, needs further investigation, the equation of the devadasi with a prostitute is clearly an oversimplification and an inadequate explanation of the stigma that came to be attached to her person and her profession. Her stigmatization not only disqualified the devadasi from full social acceptance, it also made her reluctant to let her female relatives enter into the same profession and adopt her lifestyle. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)
The above research, which was explored in greater depth in a paper I wrote in the first year of my MA on the devadasis and their sexuality, influenced my need to tackle, or at least expose the topics of colonialism, sexuality, patriarchy and the subjugation of devadasis under the umbrella of prostitution.

b. Introducing The Devadasi Trilogy

The eight classical Indian dance styles are powerful art forms, steeped in religious, spiritual and cultural content. Indian performing arts; including dance, music and drama; was codified in a most beautiful way by Lord Brahma (the Divine creator), in the Natya Sastra.2 Indian classical dance is practised the world over in an attempt to share visually with audiences and societies the mythological and deistical stories which revolve vastly around bhakti (devotion) and reverence of the various Gods and demi-Gods, who form a large part of the Hindu way of life.
Having studied bharata natyam3 and a bit of khathak4 dance, some ballet5 and aspects of African contemporary dance6 it is my passion to merge Indian dance, mythology and deistical stories with


2 Ancient North Indian Sanskrit text written by Bharata Muni in 200AD – a complete treatise on the dramatic arts.
3 A classical dance style originating from Tamil Nadu in the south of India.
4 A classical dance style originating from the north of India – there are three specific origins and styles or gharanas of khathak dance: Lucknow, Banares and Jaipur.
5 I hold a Grade 5 cecchetti ballet certificate (2014).
6 Learnt through workshop and dance exchange through rehearsal and preparation of a dance production entitled Bhakti (2014-Lliane Loots of Flatfoot Dance Company and Playhouse Dance Residency, Durban). I explain how my experience through Bhakti of African contemporary dance influenced me and my style as a western theatre styles using English dialogue and deviating from traditional Indian theatre ideals as codified in the Natya Sastra. I am a diasporic Indian artist and I found myself faced with the following question: How do I invoke my passion in beginning to establish my own creative voice worthy of an audience and one which encompasses my identity as an Indian, born and bred amongst the ‘rainbow of cultures’ in South Africa?
Being an avid fan and follower of the work of contemporary Indian artists and artists of the Indian diaspora, such as Akram Khan, Shobana Jeyasingh, Jay Pather, Anita Ratnam, Mallika Sarabhai and others, as well as meeting Professor Ketu Katrak and reading her book Contemporary Indian dance: New creative choreography in India and the diaspora (2014), I wrote a paper7 on the topic of the diasporic Indian artist which revealed to me the phenomenon of such artists having a yearning to belong and identify with the Indian in their appearance and cultural upbringing; coupled with their social and western geographical realities. The Indian subcontinent, with its vast history of colonialism, has inadvertently created a diasporic artist that strives to tackle issues such as patriarchy, sexuality, the Indian woman and her suppression, societal and cultural subjugations and general abuse placed on people of the Indian culture by themselves, and by fellow Indians.
One such exponent of contemporary Indian performance style, Savitha Sastry8, speaks of how her classical performances were not appreciated by audiences – mostly because the style has somewhat become inaccessible to the modern audience understanding.9 This fuelled her to create something closer to audiences which the layman could identify with. Her impressive body of work tackles issues of identity, war, duty (dharma), etc. She has thus reduced narrative to create stories which are not


dancer and artist in a research paper I wrote for a Trinity College of London Licentiate qualification (2015). A copy viewable on my website: https://aartinarotam.com/academic-writing/
7 An electronic version of my paper viewable on my website: https://aartinarotam.com/academic-writing/
8 Some of her work viewable on her website: www.savithasastry.com
9 Viewable via the following links are three videos (reflectively produced) in a series of interviews, clips and audience feedback on Savitha Sastry’s performance of her production Elysian Pursuits: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAqlNL2y5x0 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8dk9oTzIGg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLeapuFB1NA


deistical necessarily, but human. These same longings for identity and personal placement are what I now recognise as my experience too, since uncovering this research.
Some of the broad topics addressed or at least touched upon directly or indirectly in the trilogy include colonialism (British Raj), sexuality, the woman and her subjugation, patriarchy, social and cultural influences as well as of course, in particular, the devadasi tradition and its effect on Indian dance and these women priestesses who first practised Indian classical dance. On the Indian female protagonist in novels, Sonal Patil alleges:

In the galaxy of Indian fiction the contribution of women novelists has been of paramount significance. In the majority of the novels, we come across the miserable plight of Indian women. She has been suppressed, oppressed, depressed and exploited in the male dominating society or to say in the patriarchal setup. (Patil, 2017: 817)

This is an exact replication of what Deva has gone through and as a result, I started to explore more in depth issues that Deva, as a female protagonist, has to face. I also attempted to explore issues that all women and even men can relate to.
With the exploration of an Indian diasporic contemporary take on my art as my newfound artistic identity, I, by chance, witnessed a documentary on the SABC TV programme 3rd Degree entitled The Price of Innocence.10 This documentary uncovered stories of girls in Nepal who were drugged by people who offered the parents of these minor girls jobs in India as a chance for a better life for their daughters. Nepal, being an extremely poor state, these abductors most likely expertly preyed upon the desperation of the people. This being a reality in our very modern and so-thought liberated and free world, the documentary also goes on to show police raids, and how corruption and underhanded dealings with police lands these girls right back in the brothels in some instances.
Seeing this documentary inadvertently struck a chord within my artist to create a story, to expose this and thereby attempt to inform and educate people on the phenomenon of Indian girls in the brothels of India as being prevalent and practised today. Being a classical Indian dancer,


10 Clips from the documentary can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMkX9eHkK1U


I immediately linked this in my mind to the devadasi tradition. Indian classical dance originated in the temples of India. Devadasi’s were women who were referred to as slaves of God for the purpose of cleaning, maintaining and upkeep of temple grounds, observing prayer and ritual in the temples and dancing various deistical invocatory dances in devotion to various Hindu Gods and Goddesses (Jacobsen, 2013: 715).
According to De Bruin (2007), the devadasi served God and the community in exchange for a high stand in society, financial support from the surrounding kingdoms and reverence as a human as she would take on the form of a Goddess in order to bless those around her through ritual or at various religious and community festivals and events (De Bruin, 2007: 55).
Through dance, the devadasi was able to infuse the Goddess to whom she was dedicated with her own awakened personality to become spiritually charged which was enjoyed by the deity and then by the devadasi who then receives “blessing power” (Lidke, 2015: 8).
It is unknown whether through the usurping of many communities in India by the British Raj, or by the Hindu Brahmin priests who were somewhat jealous of the devadasi and her power, devadasis lost their standing and influence and were stripped of their holy stature. They were shunned from society with nowhere to turn and as such some of them seemed to have resorted to prostitution and over time, having the new status of ‘untouchable’ attached to the once holy tradition. As a result, the entire tradition lost its stance. I envision many devadasis, especially younger ones must have had some sort of force upon them to enter into prostitution, taking all of the above into consideration. In this manner, I linked the documentary of girls in Nepal having no choice in their destiny to the devadasis and I thus felt a dual responsibility not only towards the devadasi tradition as the setting for my trilogy, but as a modern interpretation which is also shedding a light on the occurrence of young girls being shunned into prostitution even today.
For some reason, I am completely consumed by the mystery of the devadasi tradition; it seems to stir so much within me. There is a part of me that resonates deeply and sensitively with the devadasis, making me inclined to believe I was one of them in a past life. I took this fascination a step further and decided to investigate the devadasi tradition. Based on this research, I wrote a play called, Devadasi – A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets (2013)11 in an attempt to share with audiences just one hour out of the life of a devadasi named Deva.12
The play seemed to be making an impact on audiences and the reason for this, I believe, is that the somewhat taboo subject-matter of prostitution and the entire devadasi tradition, which is inadvertently concealed from general public knowledge, seemed to have stirred within the audience a sense of being robbed of the truth about the devadasis. This play attempts to remove some of the mystery. My work suddenly became more important to me than I initially ever could have imagined.
I subsequently then wrote Devadasi – The Prequel (2015)13 as well as a sequel to the original, called A Devadasi in love? (2017)14. It is my goal to write more plays in this series in years to come. But for now, this trilogy is based on the life of Deva, a temple devadasi who shares with the audience her intimate thoughts during pivotal times in her life, including how she lands up in a brothel and her experiences there. The plays contain spoken dialogue, dance, music and song – both English and Indian and, like modern style western musicals, the music, song and dance pieces forward the plot. I wanted to expose the reality of what some of the devadasis might have gone through during the British Raj. My interpretation is but a fictional account of one devadasi and her experience.


11 This was the first play I wrote, but subsequently became the 2nd play within the trilogy.
12 I toured the country with this production and performed it 14 times including performances in Mauritius (Indira Gandhi Centre for Indian Culture); at the WITS Theatre and Lenasia Soccer Stadium in Johannesburg; at the Joseph Stone Theatre in Cape Town; two performances at the Port Elizabeth Opera House Barn; at the Arts Theatre in East London; at the Ikwezi Lokuba Hall in Mthatha; at the Hindu Seva Samaj community hall in Ladysmith and five renditions at the Grahamstown National Arts Festival12. I also received a review in the Sunday Times Extra12 titled No dry eyes as dancer tells sad tale. The review was written by Doreen Premdev and she described the show as, “moving and enlightening”, “Narotam is a new kid on the block but is going to make her mark”, “Aarti Narotam told a beautiful and poignant story”.
13 This play was performed twice over two nights at the PE Opera House Hub as part of the Iphulo Arts Festial (2015). This is the first play in the series, completely re-worked and re-titled as Born in blood.
14 This play has not yet been performed – it was written as part of my creative submission during year 2 of my MA.


The dialogue style I used is one which is very simplistic with a narrative feel. I wanted to bring the character of Deva right down to earth, in quite sharp contrast with the music and dance and even aspects of the costume which lean slightly towards an idealistic Indian performance style which I in essence, deviate from. The dialogue has no airs or flairs, and there are intentional ambiguities in reference to action. In A Devadasi in Love?, for example, I have created a purposeful dual ending in that the audience is left wondering if Deva in fact kills herself or if she kills her love interest/antagonist Azamat and also, whether the entire character of Azamat is in fact a figment of Deva’s imagination, this being possible due to Azamat being a character the audience never sees, but only hears through dramatic devices including off-stage action and voiceovers. The dialogue itself is very close to how every day, contemporary people might speak. This purposeful dichotomy is very different from what I have previously seen portrayed by Indian contemporary artists, where in this trilogy, there is a single character approach, influenced by my western theatre studies, as opposed to the approach where one performer morphs between characters within the dramatic action which is very prevalent in Indian classical dance, for example. This vast deviation from traditional Indian styles had proved to be very interesting for me to explore through the writing of this trilogy.
In my training and understanding as a bharata natyam exponent, a dancer is dancing as herself, showcasing herself and showcasing renditions of various deistical and religious stories through her own eyes. Having created one character with multiple thought processes, that of Deva’s – I placed importance on her unique experiences and interpretations as well as giving her her own manner of speaking and a set of ever-morphing personality traits. This was one of my main focuses in the creation of Deva’s character in this trilogy. Also, creating a character who is known as ‘untouchable’ – a person of low caste and not generally considered important enough to be put on stage – was a choice I made which deviates from general Indian performance styles which usually portray Gods and demi-Gods or Kings and people with power and privilege as protagonists.

Each play represents a specific time period in Deva’s life. Each play also reflects her growth or her personal changes both in between the plays as well as in each play itself. This is a definite western-based focus for which I kept as a main style in my writing of this trilogy.
In my experience of learning, practising and performing the dance style of bharata natyam, it always holds a large focus on the aesthetic appeal of the art form. If I have been gifted the opportunity of performing a bharata natyam repertoire, I do thoroughly enjoy the process of getting dressed up and it is almost a sort of ritual involving an immaculate eight piece costume, with false hair, jewellery and make up which takes in excess of two hours to put on. This ritual of sorts, has in the past helped me to prepare mentally for the performance ahead which is usually extremely strenuous, spiritual and religious in content. Besides the physical performance, a lot of emotional preparation is always needed and the rehearsal process is one that can break you down before you again build up the stamina and prowess to do the performance. I could probably count on two hands the number of times I have done such a performance in the fifteen or so years since my arangetram15 in 2003. This is because, in my experience, audiences seldom support this type of performance due to its content which the layman does not understand. Due to its aesthetics it can be appreciated – an audience can see the dedication and commitment a dancer puts into this sort of performance and appreciates it on this basis – but mostly, this is potentially all that the audience might take from such a performance. Of course there are outlets and a definite need for classical bharata natyam renditions, especially in places where there are large Indian classical dance communities who strive to pass this art form on. However, for general audience engagement, this type of performance has not proved ideal for me.
The experience of putting all of that time and effort into a performance, without being able to reach audiences, created a thirst in me to delve into other realms of performance. After exposing myself to western theatre, I developed an interest to delve into cross-culture and interculturalism in my


15 Bharata natyam graduation ceremony which culminates in a two hour performance usually performed with live music. My arangetram took place at the Port Elizabeth Opera House in July 2003.


performance style. I wanted to stick to my strengths, though, and my identity is inherently Indian as is my knowledge base and formal dance training. But how could I make my work more accessible to audiences? After graduating, I spent about seven years performing at corporate events mostly. During this time, I explored the sect of Bollywood performance which had, and still has, great mass appeal and appreciation. The music is upbeat, the feelings portrayed and felt by audiences are happy and there is a general ‘good feel’ about this type of performance. The enjoyment of audiences when I would perform Bollywood pieces rendered me more satisfied than the disengagement with audiences I experienced when I would perform bharata natyam and I began to start basing my performances on what audiences desired to see. Interestingly, my accessibility as an artist multiplied ten-fold. This also inadvertently created a shunning by, from my dance school and teachers who strongly disapproved of any associations with performances based on audience appeal.
After returning from India and studying at Stageworld16, I felt the need to take my subject matter to a new level and hence my exploring of dance drama. I wanted to expose Indian stories, the same stories portrayed in bharata natyam but in a way that brought these stories closer to audiences. I strived to shatter the inaccessibility of the scriptures inherent in bharata natyam and bring them across in an easy to understand manner. I stepped away from the classical style that has been followed for generations, and my focus deviated from exposing bharata natyam, to wanting to reach the hearts of audience members in order to give them something to leave my performances with. I stepped away from the mould of being a bharata natyam exponent to create my own way of performing my own stories. I deviated also from the costume style and I took bharata natyam dance pieces and utilised their content to forward the plot. In this manner, the bharata natyam item had value for Deva and her story, the mood of the item became clearer and audiences could appreciate the classical aspect because it was presented in a manageable bout which they could piece together


16 A private performing arts college in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, where I completed my Diploma in Performing Arts (2012). Via its affiliation, I obtained my Trinity College of London Licentiate in Performing Arts (2015). I also subsequently lectured at this college on an ad-hoc basis for five years – History of theatre 1 & 2, Drama 1, Textual Analysis 1.


in a manner that they maybe had not been exposed to before. All of a sudden there was a channel of accessibility to bharata natyam for the audience, for myself and mostly for Deva through her story.
Generally speaking, the religious and spiritual content of bharata natyam also seems to focus on a sometimes idealistic view of the stories – the body position of bharata natyam is unnatural and so how do these stylistic devices successfully portray a real story? I deviated in this manner too, whereby I took real modern life understandings and attempted to tackle them in the trilogy. Where is the challenge for social change or at least an effect on people in a bharata natyam rendition? I found myself asking this question. And how do I implore this thinking in my writing? There sometimes seems to be a very heavy unspoken reality behind the existence of women, and in my particular case, Indian woman. These taboo topics do not generally get to see the light of stage. I wanted to change this, challenge this, and tackle a topic which I had not seen been tackled before on stage – that of the devadasis.

 

c. Indian female representation and sexuality

The British Rule in India brought about a structural change in the devadasi system, from that mentioned above of being a familial system to a strong lack of royal patronage which reduced a number of the devadasis to prostitution in order for them to fend for themselves. Dance thus became taboo in society due to the ambiguous identity of the devadasis who was a dancer, and on some levels, a courtesan (Phadke, 2015: 1).
Kersenboom highlights that “European sources (both travelogues and missionary reports) usually depict devadasis as ‘sacred courtesans’ who excel in the various performing arts (including the art of love)” (Kersenboom-Story, cited by Kersenboom, 2004: 135).

Lewis notes, “The role of ‘dancer as courtesan’ is mentioned as early as 300BC in a text by Kautilya” (Lewis, 2012: 19).17 This was not only women, but also self-castrated eunuchs who were found around the temples of the goddesses (Ringdal, 2004: 78).
There seems to be a definite link between a devadasi and a woman who is (sexually) liberated. Whether this was a modern day promiscuous woman, one that is not afraid to revel in her femininity, one who liberates herself sexually, whether this was a court dancer who was popular and therefore rewarded financially by the nobility for her talent as a dancer, or mere prostitution. Though as there is a distinction today, the 300 different categorical terms18 used to denounce a ‘desirable woman’ as described in the Kama Sutra19, there surely was a deep understanding of the variations in the human psyche relating to sexuality in general and the devadasi or the divine dancer’s sexuality in particular.
Moving to today’s times, and in my experience, an Indian woman’s sexuality still seems a very contented issue. There are immense untapped mental and physical issues facing women regarding sexuality, and more particular minor girls, without education on healthy sexual practices, sexual illnesses also plague our societies. As a method of tackling this head on, in a sense, the devadasi and her sexuality, I believe, is the perfect outlet. She was a liberated woman, and her power is hers. I believe in the need for women to have this power today, and via the writing of this trilogy, I hope to stimulate that.


17 “Kautilya was the first political philosopher in Indian History… Arthasastra… describes social and economic conditions…” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
18 Vatsyana describes different types of prostitutes as follows: a learned luxury prostitute trained in the 64 arts alluded to in the Kama Sutra is a ganika, a temple prostitute is a devadasi, a cheap sex worker tempting men with her dress was a vecya, and one who ran after men was a pumscali. For example, Ganikas “were adept at reading and writing and of course could sing and dance. The ganikas could carry royal parasols and fans, wear gold jewellery and beautiful dresses… (their) services were legally recognized; they could hold money and possess land and slaves” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
19 Ancient vedic text written by Vatsyana wherein love, relationships and sexual encounters are codified as a means to overcoming by understanding one’s own physical desires.


3. Reflecting on the methodology of writing

With my research under way, and my views on the sexuality of the devadasi clearer in my mind, I began my process of writing. I will now unpack my methodology surrounding the creation of my narratives as well as the writer-character connection prevalent in the trilogy.
The plays were written to be performed by me – this rendering me the writer as performer. This influenced the scripts and the style in which I wrote, my own shortcomings and strengths as a performer had to be taken into account as I wrote the script. I had to make sure that the various ages of Deva would be able to be played by me as an adult. I also had to utilise music pieces for choreography which would suit my style of dancing. All of these considerations in fact made the writing flow much better in that I knew very well what I as performer would be comfortable and able to portray and accomplish on stage. Writing for myself as performer proved to be a good experience of personal consultation. However, in contrast, it also proved to be an isolating experience at times as the lack of an objective eye for writing made some of the details sketchy to fill in. I knew what the story would entail, plot-wise, but writing the narrative to bring that story to life without over-emphasising subtext in my writing style as opposed to trusting my audience became a huge challenge. As Toscan notes in his Playwriting Seminars 2.0, “Best Practice: No subtext, no meaningful conflict, no play” (Toscan, 2011: 86). In my re-working of the first two plays and my writing of the third, I made a conscious effort to be aware of creating a healthy layer of subtext which would render Deva more human with complexities reaching beyond those portrayed by her dialogue and stage actions.
I seem to have written in a manner that takes a conscious cognisance of the fact that I am writing for myself to perform. The script in and of itself could certainly be performed by another actor, but there are components of the script which limits versatility in terms of being published for others to perform, that is, the dance component mostly. I feel like my work as performed by me, is in essence a complete representation of what I as the writer envision.
I found that writing based on a historical phenomenon such as that of the devadasi was greatly fuelled by research. Of course, this is key for any writing based on a historical period, but what I found challenging was sifting through the vastness of information about the devadasi traditions, as evidenced by the limited and often contrasting information provided above. The more I researched, at times, the more conflicting some of the information became. I then saw the reason why, for example, leading researcher on the devadasis, Dr Saskia Kersenboom in her later work started focusing on individual devadasis and their encounters as her general research methodology. This also then fuelled my decision to draw from my own imaginative experience of Deva in my creation of her. The trilogy is based on the life of one devadasi and her experiences. In no way, can any single depiction of a devadasi, such as that of Deva’s, speak for all devadasis.
At this point is when I uncovered my first research focus; I felt the need to give my protagonist her own experiences, based on my own experiences as a methodology, myself having encountered sexual abuse as a child, and into adulthood, some bad experiences with men. This birthed a most interesting source for Deva’s experiences because they were real for me, and as a result, the experiences I was giving Deva were full of life and lessons. They had a definite start, middle and end. The character grew as a result of her experiences and there are definite spurts of growth and/or changes within Deva. If the experiences did not fuel some sort of change or growth for the character, they would be futile to put on stage. These real experiences from which I drew, also allowed a creative expansion for Deva’s experiences – for dramatic purposes, Deva’s character and her historical backdrop made it possible to expand on the experiences and their effect on her personal journey. It became fascinating to parallel my own personal experiences as the writer with those of my protagonist. It brought her to life for me. It made me respect my protagonist and it helped me understand her.
A big influence on my writing style of the trilogy is the neoclassical ideal of verisimilitude derived by the Renaissance Italians whose verisimilitude was influenced by components of theory from Aristotle and Horace, meaning that drama should be “true to life” (Wilson and Goldfarb, 1991: 212). I felt it important to also keep the trilogy, especially the first two plays, in this style of portraying just a ‘slice of the life’ of Deva during a pivotal time of her life. I realised that a time frame need not exceed an hour in ‘real time’ for the character to learn something, to grow, or to have a telling experience. This made Deva as a protagonist unique in that this one woman rendition was stark and raw. This also was done on purpose to avoid unnecessary aesthetics for the stage, that is, Deva does not change costume in the first two plays, which are both intensive in plot structure. Showing a ‘slice of life’ of one character is also not a common style for Indian classical performances and I also attempted to create a linear narrative which shows periods in time, in the life of one character. Traditional bharata natyam repertoires do not necessarily hold any linear linkage in the entire performance. Each piece is separate and many different unrelated stories could be shared in one performance. For these reasons, I have used the general style of a western musical as dance and music pieces are plot forwarding mechanisms in the trilogy.
Generally, classical bharata natyam recitations have a strong reliance on aesthetic appeal. Mostly, audiences cannot engage with the highly stylised classicality of the dance style and its numerous intricacies. Also, the stories are mythologically based with very idealistic portrayals which many modern audiences struggle to relate to. For these reasons, the aesthetic-appeal and focus for bharata natyam recitals become necessary; to engage the audience. The costumes are very elaborate and staging and stage décor has become a big focus in classical renditions. There is also no necessary through-line in a traditional bharata natyam margam20 – but rather a series of dance items presented in a particular order, sometimes all following the same deity, sometimes portraying various deities.21


20 Repertoire.
21 The items usually follow a structure: pushpanjali (invocatory dance); alarippu (pure dance or nritta done for the purpose of warming up the body); jatiswaram (fast paced, intricate nritta piece); sabdam (story telling or natya piece interspersed with nritta pieces); varnam (considered a crowning piece in a repertoire – this item is usually thirty to forty five minutes in length involving a dancer as devotee talking directly to the deity she is portraying, interspersed with nritta rigorous pieces); there is usually a musical interlude at this time,


I deviated from the style of verisimilitude in the writing of the third play, however. The nature of Deva’s experiences in this play required a more extensive dramatic approach to the writing which allowed for various scenes to be set in different locales set over a longer time period with costume changes. This play was written for the MA, and not solely for the purpose of being put on stage. I therefore challenged myself to think outside of the box, and write without necessarily considering budgeting or stage implications, practicalities or limitations. This was interesting for me to explore and this broadened my perspective. Even though the writing style of A devadasi in love? deviates from my usual style in the abovementioned manners, I can still realistically put this play on stage. This was very liberating for me, as writing in this un-guarded manner made me realise that more creativity and greater dramatic prowess can be achieved with a limited budget and in a one-woman setting. For me as a writer, this is a valuable realisation.
After writing A devadasi in love? I then also started to question certain things. A big topic that prevailed is why I, a woman, and more so in my experience, an Indian woman, seem to hold idealistic views of love. I realised that my somewhat tunnelled and heavily shielded upbringing, voided me of many experiences a woman should have going through relationships as one grows up. I was not allowed to engage with males unless my brother was around and I felt wrong or bad if I felt attraction or interest in a male, even from the Indian community, let alone from the broader communities where I was schooled. I was not even allowed to spend time outside of school with girlfriends, which rendered me quite a recluse in high school. I was brought up to believe that a woman should only engage with one man, her husband, and that any interest in the opposite sex is not only not allowed, but heavily punishable. My surprises were immense when I entered the ‘real world’ as an adult and started experiencing dating on my own – even though still under-cover of


performed by the live musicians as the dancer changes costume; the second half contains bhajan (devotional dance); ashtapati (a purely natya piece where the dancer takes on characters to tell a deistical story); javali (usually an energetic piece using nritya which is pure dance and interpretative passages); tillana (this is a highly energetic culmination of the repertoire which shows all aspects of the dancers body in isolation before merging them); mangalam (finale and prayer). The structure is very precise and each piece described above also has a very particular structure.


concealment from my parents. This engagement with relationships, coupled with my idealistic views on love, brought me many experiences that inspired Deva’s in this play. I believe that sharing a rendition of seeming perfection in a man, can spur about a lot of exploration in terms of how in Indian communities patriarchy is enforced upon women. I then also linked this to Deva in her comparing a man (Azamat) to God, her original husband. This interesting parallel for Deva, and women in general, places a heavy reliance on female expectation for a man to behave and bring a ‘certain something’ to a woman’s life, which was not there before. Of course, this can be true; however, surely the female brings the same power to the man in equal manner? These interesting parallels with the devadasi tradition and modern day ideals, makes this setting more prevalent than ever. There was a time where these women were considered Goddesses, and I hoped to, in my writing, somewhat uplift women through this trilogy and remind them that they can view themselves as such today.

4. Detailed analysis of the trilogy

Below, I present an analysis of the trilogy in relation to my research focus. Included are references to my research, personal inspirations and motivations, the character and how her personality moulds as a result of her experiences and how the circumstances of Deva’s life took form within the script. I refer to my thought processes and make reference to ideas I wished to explore through some of Deva’s experiences.

a. Born in blood

In this play, Deva is a fifteen year old devadasi. The play is set in 1911 in a temple in India, though the play is written as a modern interpretation. In the re-working of this play, I added many experiences that were not originally part of the script, including a re-working of the title. I felt the original title – that of Devadasi-the prequel, lacked dramatic appeal and although the story was important, in the telling of how Deva initially got kidnapped from the temple by British soldiers and found herself in a brothel, there was not much of the character’s voice present in the writing. I wanted to give her more lived experience and expand on her dimensions. I needed to introduce her to audiences in the re-working, and this became a means for me to shift the focus from merely the historical setting of the scene, back to Deva, and this entire experience through her eyes. It was my intention to strongly focus on giving Deva a lived experience as opposed to a narrated one. This is when I began some general research on the female protagonist. This revealed many interesting trains of thought, and fuelled my desire to explore many ideas.
The first experience was that of menstruation as a means for a girl to become a woman. I, myself, had never actually realised before, that a woman is literally born in blood, that is, a girl becomes a woman after her first period. This interesting and somewhat dark reality inspired me to let Deva have this experience as the audience’s introduction to her, and to hopefully result in an interesting culmination for the audience in reflection of the title. For Deva, bleeding not only means she is a woman, but she is now ready for formal initiation into the devadasi tradition via her marriage to the deity and her ceremonial sitting on the Shivalingum which Ringdal (2004: 79) describes as a “symbolic phallus” used as a representation of Shiva for worship purposes. To what extent this practise of initiation was practised historically is not known, but research on the devadasi’s initiation in some temples when girls are between the ages ten and twelve revealed the following:

They lost their maidenhood and became symbolically married to a tree, a knife, or a sword. In the Shiva temples, even the breaking of the hymen was ritualized, with Shiva worshipped in the form of a symbolic phallus, upon which the girls were ordered to take a seat. Before recorded history and in its earliest sources, most temple girls and Indian prostitutes generally were linked to the fertility cults of the maternal or love goddess. (Ringdal, 2004: 79)

I found this so disturbing and immensely rich in dramatic potential that I had to give Deva this experience in this play. This was also fuelled greatly by explorative free-writing. In the first part of the play I tackle the issue of menstruation and how this passageway into womanhood is not necessarily so beautiful and proud for the experiencer, but likely more so for the people around her. When in fact, in my own experience as well as generally speaking, many girls at the time of their first period feel scared, dirty, and in many societies, girls are not even prepared for this and are surprised by the occurrence, believing sometimes that something is wrong with them. In my experience, menstruation was briefly mentioned to me, but I was not told what it meant for the body, or why it occurred physiologically. I felt a need to draw a strong personal parallel with Deva in this instance as those feelings of fear and self-dread that I felt upon menstruating for the first time are very real in female adolescence and the way in which mothers or guardians handle the situation is crucial to how a girl becoming a woman deals with her first experience of womanhood.
In relation to my research question on understanding my experiences through Deva, this spurred about a train of thought that extended right into my adulthood on the issue of menstruation and on the very fabric of my identity as a woman. Also, in Indian culture and some Indian households in the community I grew up in, going to temple or observing certain religious days are forbidden if a woman is menstruating. I failed to locate any formal research on this, but it fuelled me in creating a stark contrast for Deva in that her very residence in the temple sanctifies her menstruation and gives it an honourable feel. This also contrasts with how she actually feels about the occurrence; not very honourable. It is revealed in the script through a time shift, and by the following dialogue as quoted from the script, “I want to go back to yesterday, even though I wished for today when it was yesterday”.
It is a very real price to pay for being a woman, and although this fact is known by men, do men actually realise or remember that a woman bleeds every month for a period of about five to seven days from the part of her body he (heterosexual males) most likely engages with? How does he think that might feel? Why does this happen, spiritually speaking? These questions arose in me as a result of giving Deva this experience in this play, and she poses some of these ideas to the audience. My hope is that men who view this play think about menstruation after watching Deva’s experience and hereby I believe I challenge, or at least shine a light on an aspect of sexism and patriarchy. Many women downplay their own power thereby allowing themselves to be subservient through feeling disgusting and dirty when menstruation occurs, when in fact it is a natural phenomenon that should be celebrated and honoured by us as women, and maybe then men can in turn also honour it. I hope the effect of celebrating Deva’s menstruation spurs this. I also hope that women who see this play take a more conscious cognisance of their own experiences of and thoughts about menstruation. Author Ekhart Tolle, in his book The Power of Now (1999), refers to the menstruation of women as a time when the collective psyche of women is in pain. She bleeds for the world, he says, as a result of “pain accumulated in the collective human psyche over thousands of years through disease, torture, war, murder, cruelty, madness, and so on” (Tolle, 1999: 138). She pains herself (by bleeding) as a sacrificial act of cleansing the earth of pain. This is so interesting, and spiritually speaking, so deep as a topic to explore. I hope audiences find this interesting too, and my hope is that they leave the play talking about it, and if not that, at least thinking about it. All of this of course, being besides the factual physiology of menstruation as being a natural process of the body for the purpose of cleansing before preparing itself for fertilization.
As Deva menstruates for the first time, this occurrence spurs about, by the older devadasis, immediate preparation for Deva’s marriage. This is portrayed very idealistically, by song, dance, music, wedding outfits and general happiness. It is my hope for audience members at this point not to expect, or realise the nature of Deva’s wedding that is about to happen. There is a shivalingum on stage, but the audience does not, of course, know that this prop will have the significance it will have, later on. The shivalingum is a phallus shaped object, but some schools of thought believe that it is not in fact a representation of the phallus and its associated generative powers. But if it is not meant to be as such, then why is it in this shape? Throughout my life, I have grown up seeing this object in the temple and I have partaken in rituals of cleansing this object, particularly on the auspicious celebration of Shivaratri or Day of Shiva22. Being accustomed to it through my culture and religion, I never looked at it as anything other than a shivalingum. Only upon coming across the above-quoted research whereby a devadasi sits on it for initiation, did I actually notice the shape, for the first time. On the auspicious day of Shivaratri, the shivalingum is bathed with milk and water, adorned with flowers and marked with traditional coloured powders. Growing up, we did not question this and other practises but rather, simply followed suit of the priest and our elders and parents. Making sense of the shape of this object was a huge realisation for me as the writer, personally. Having somewhat estranged sexual experiences throughout my life, coupled with no formal or informal direct mention of sex, until high school, I am very astounded by this knowledge revealed to me through Deva.
The divinity of masculine and feminine sexual union in Indian texts such as the Kama Sutra and depicted in many temple carvings in India, was also only uncovered for myself for the first time


22 The God of dance and also the divine destroyer.


through my research of the devadasis. Ringdal (2004) quotes a piece of translated prose text contained in the ancient writings of India which was likely written in Old Indian, Sanskrit or Vedic:

The womb of woman is an altar,
Her nether hair is sacred grass,
Her skin the cup of her body’s sacred dram,
The lips of her sex, the fire that consumeth all. (Ringdal, 2004: 69)

Ringdal (2004) further iterates how Shiva was the protector of prostitutes. I discovered that the sexuality of man and woman, especially copulation, in fact represents a state of union with God, and so is therefore considered a sacred act, hence its depiction in the temples as well as perhaps the reason for the shivalingum being in its shape. This is all my personal speculation as a result of uncovering these ancient truths about Hindu culture and beliefs. It then, assumedly goes to show why devadasis would ceremoniously sit on the shivalingum as their initiation into the tradition and marriage to the deity. This makes this bizarre initiation process almost beautiful, if one takes the full picture into account. I concluded that this fascinating uncovering would be dramatically effective as the end to this play. To add to the stark portrayal of this moment on stage, it is also the same moment that the British soldiers arrive with guns to seize the temple. This magnanimous conjunction of occurrences created a powerful experience for Deva as the ending to this play. Originally, I had the British soldiers enter and their guns clocking as the ending, but for the re-work, I added in the whole build up to this moment, as a culmination of Deva’s sitting on the shivalingum.
American author Neale Donald Walsch (1998) in his book Conversations with God Three, speaks of the sexuality of the human being as being something shrouded upon, something overlooked and something taboo. Yet, as he, in the book, ‘speaks to God’, God reveals to him that this is not ideal – we are sexual beings and copulation is a natural act. He goes on to express how adults stop a baby from touching their private parts, for example, and how pregnancy is frowned upon especially if out of wedlock. These man-made ideals which society succumbs to are in fact not necessarily in line with

‘God’s will’ if these are in direct conflict with natural human urges (Walsch, 1998: 22). This also got me thinking about how Deva’s sexuality going forward from this point, is experienced by her as a result of her first experience of her sexuality being with the shivalingum. It almost in a sense, might have kept the devadasi in control of her experience, there is no man directly involved, except through patriarchy, and it also could dignify the experience, having being part of her initiation ceremony, with other devadasis present as witness, and presumably as something that she has witnessed many times prior to her own experience of this. In similar cognisance with reference to sexuality in the West, Liddy alleges:

Many second-wave feminists have been critical of the way in which female sexuality is socially organised; tied inextricably to marriage and family, women have traditionally been encouraged to equate the expression of their sexuality exclusively with heterosexual romantic love. Sexual relations for women were expected to be part of a loving and committed heterosexual relationship because men constructed female sexuality to meet their own needs. Despite changes in the sexual practices of young women, many of these ideas are still deeply rooted in western societies. For example, 40 years after these inequalities were brought to public attention in the 1970’s, arguably, women are still viewed as less sexually driven than men, and female sexuality – where it is acknowledged – largely remains linked to romance and committed heterosexual relationships. (Liddy, 2015: 604)

Deva relates to this mode of liberation through her experience with the shivalingum. Taking the man out of the first sexual experience of a woman was indeed a powerful action for the devadasis and certainly for Deva to have experienced. Of course, hers is now scourged with the unholy presence of the British soldiers who arrive just as she sits on the shivalingum, thereby taking away the magnanimous symbolism of the moment for Deva. For me as writer, this somewhat paralleled my first sexual encounter being taken from me by an abuser.
How did these experiences affect Deva going forward? I had to ask myself this, for the re-working of the next play. In the abovementioned analysis, my personal experiences as the writer were given many further insights through the process of writing Born in blood. The parallels drawn between myself as writer and Deva are prevalent in many deep and inter-weaving ways. The dramatic action occurring for Deva in her younger years as written in this script is immense in magnitude for her as a young and new woman, as well as for her as a devadasi. The unique manner in which her truth is portrayed through these harsh experiences fuel her spiritual power for how she handles what is to come later on in her life. As the writer, with somewhat paralleled experiences, this is the same way I was fuelled – to be strong going forward, in the face of adversity.

 

b. A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets

In this play, we fast forward ten years. Deva is twenty five years of age, in a brothel in India, and the year is 1921. Although she is strong, I could best describe her as cynical. This play is devoid of much dramatic action, and is more of an expression of Deva’s mind, this purposely to somewhat show audiences the lengthy almost mundane way in which she lives and to make audiences simply see a piece of her reality. A big component always coming through in this play is her connection to God. She always refers to Krishna or Shiva. The play begins with her offering fresh flowers and a prayer at her altar. I drew on this from my own experience of always remembering God, especially in difficult times. This reminder of the goodness in the world somewhat highlights Deva’s plight and exposes her true vulnerability to the audience, despite her portrayed strength and harsh exterior as seen or heard when she is interacting with other characters in the play. She spends a large amount of time in this play in her room where she is alone and addresses the audience by looking into her dressing mirror.
The audience meets Salo, the brothel pimp via voiceover, and a reference is made to two other girls in the brothel. This is interspersed with her doing a daily performance for brothel visitors. I enjoyed writing this play as a ‘slice of life’ and this indicated by, for example, the sounds of her bells as she walks from her ‘room’ at stage left, around the back of the stage, to stage right, where the ‘brothel stage’ is.
Today, however, something happens to her. Today as she dances, for the first time she realises what her part to play is in the men reacting in the way that they do to her dancing. This is depicte
through the choreography as the dance climaxes and she runs off the stage, and straight into her room, once again indicating no time lapse due to the sound of her bells as she runs connecting the dramatic action. She usually wears a proverbial mask and performs without engaging with the men in her audience as a self-protecting mechanism. Today, though, she cannot help but realise or notice her responsibility as evident by her dialogue which she shares with the audience after dancing when she is once again back in her room, “My mask is starting to slip. I struggle to hide how I really feel. When I put my mask on, I shut off the world… but I get closer to myself – and THAT’s what’s really scaring me!”. This is an all too common coping mechanism for me as the writer, and I suspect, for many women facing issues related to their sexuality – we wear a mask to come across in a way that hides vulnerabilities beneath. I wanted to shine a light on this – hopefully letting women know that wearing a mask can sometimes be more detrimental, even though it is a self-protecting mechanism and sometimes one that is necessary, when one is facing hardships in life.
The play then launches into a bharata natyam dance, in dream sequence style, almost like a prayer where Deva is asking Krishna through the choreography and music, as quoted from the script, “The dancer asks why God doesn’t give her a moment’s grace despite all her prayers”. During this dance piece, whether by Deva’s imagination or her belief in prayer, she witnesses or experiences something as a direct message from Krishna, she is ecstatic and this is revealed in the choreography by her launch into a series of deistical depictions of various stories from Krishna’s life as the music and mood of the dance changes gear quite drastically to a more upbeat and fast paced tempo. She ends the dance on a ‘high’ and, as the lights black out and come back on again, we find Deva back in her ‘room’ where the audience realises she has been this entire time, back in her reality. I wanted the audience to starkly realise that as they leave the theatre to go to their home, Deva will still be in the brothel. This minimalistic portrayal of Deva’s reality, coupled with her realisation of responsibility drives this plot forward in that even though she is stuck in this place for ten years and counting, she still prays, she still has hope, she still has personal realizations and although she is somewhat cynical, she is still a human being with complexities worth sharing. The simple and linear nature of this play makes the audience directly face Deva and I hope that audiences leave with an appreciation for their own lives.
In parallel with my own experiences as the writer, sometimes ‘bad’ experiences leave us more conscious of future actions and lessons, I find myself ever ready to face another challenge, a knowing that I can handle anything that comes my way, because I have handled hardships in the past. This is a quality in me which I share with Deva and I believe giving her this inner strength renders her endearing and respected. Only now can I look back at some of my experiences and be thankful for them in that they gave me this quality of inner strength. This is a realisation that writing Deva’s experiences in this play helped me to uncover – hence the word “journey” in the title, A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets.
From the mundane reality that Deva has faced for the past ten years, what sort of morphing would take place within a person? I asked myself this question before writing the next play. As the writer, I am an avid day-dreamer, I immediately linked in my mind Deva’s devotion to God with a strong reliance on dreaming, what sort of dreams would Deva have? What could give her the strength to be positive and to hope for a better future? These questions are also ones which I ask myself, and once again, the narrative fuelled by my personal realisations.

c. A devadasi in love?

In this play, we fast forward three years to 1924, where Deva is twenty eight years old and still in the same brothel. Despite that her circumstances have not changed; she has developed a reliance on dreaming – a reliance bordering on over-reliance. She has somewhat idealistic views in these dreams of hers, which encompass true love and these dreams, although being her source of inspiration and strength, have somewhat tricked her into thinking that they can become a reality. Or rather she has allowed herself to be tricked by the possibility of her own dreams. This, in theory, is not an issue, but becomes an issue when she looks for the realisation of her dreams in an experience; as opposed to letting the experience unfold before her. Without these dreams being explicitly explored within the dramatic action of the play, this was the inspiration behind much of the action which ensues during this play. This is paralleled with my own personal experiences of this exact phenomenon. She meets a prince who finally seems to embody everything she hoped a man could have; this happening through rich merchants or princes coming from neighbouring villages to the brothel to look for girls to ‘buy’. The character of the prince, Azamat (meaning ‘pride’) is played with in terms of his mysteriousness. Even though his presence is indicated through dance, choreography and voiceover, I wanted to leave the audience wondering whether the entire character was not in fact a figment of Deva’s imagination. I was inspired in this regard by own experience of meeting a man who disappeared as fast as he appeared, almost like a dream, a dream that taught me many life lessons – a big one of which was idealistic dreaming in terms of romantic love is not a lasting reality, one which many women believe is a reality. This often leads to immensely heart-breaking experiences for the woman involved; and perhaps for the man too. Many men who meet such a woman would be completely au fait with taking advantage of her innocence and naivety by trying to fulfil her idealistic views. It is when things start unravelling that the true nature of a person is revealed. Unfortunately, parents of female offspring sometimes tend to have a protected view over their daughters, often to their detriment, and this is especially true in my experience and generally that of my community. Many young Indian girls in the Port Elizabeth community I grew up in have since married men not of the Indian culture and this has brought ‘shame’ to their families. Many of these girls are shunned from the family. Some elope. Some have many difficult experiences of their parents’ discriminatory behaviour in this regard. I wanted to tackle some of these issues, indirectly, against the tradition of the devadasis in a hope to shine a light on the futility of these idealistic views placed upon women, and especially if that woman is your daughter. These same idealistic views are not imposed upon males and this sexist view of dating will not serve our women going forward. I grew up thinking and believing a man would and should save me from the confines of my parents’ grip. But in actual fact what happened was that I unconsciously re-created for myself situations whereby some of the same personal infringements that were enforced on me by my upbringing, were deep seated in the unfolding of some of my relationships. These unhealthy unconscious experiences need the light of consciousness for people to start to enforce some sort of positive change for the women of our generations. These insights have been directly and overtly learnt by me as the writer, solely through the writing of this play. And I hope that audiences share these realisations when watching this play.
This entire experience, including the culmination of these realisations about my upbringing found themselves in this play. I presented the character of Azamat somewhat a ghost-like figure who brings out a big lesson for Deva. His ghost-like manner is emphasised by how amazingly Deva sees this man – her experience is shown to the audience only through her eyes. His entrance initially should make the audience want to put a face to this mystery man, but this is not satisfied and in fact not necessary. A woman’s experience is her own and the audience need not see the man physically to engage with her experience of him. I also wish for female audience members to face the naivety in themselves by seeing how Deva softens and changes as a result of this man. It has become so apparent how women can change in the face of a relationship and the effects this has on the man and on the relationship, because once the initial infatuations fade, or something real happens, the flairs fall away and what is left is only the truth about a person. The fact that Azamat physically takes Deva away and showers her with the riches of his life is a further idealism I wish to face – that of economy being a tool that men sometimes use to gain power and leverage over females. And the fact that females allow this and some even look for this material wealth in a partner.
Deva goes through some inner changes as a result of these economic changes – she starts drinking wine, she becomes somewhat sloppy in speech and thought and she also has no problem eating meat, being previously vegetarian, and also enforces her authority on Lubena, her attendant – the irony being that she herself is in essence a servant. What spurs about a wakening from this unconscious streak of hers is not a change in the way Azamat treats her, but the fact that he shows the same affection he has for her towards other women. Once again, her ideals prevail as this occurrence shocks her out of her love dream. She immediately remembers herself and this shift spurs about a deep anger as she is jolted back into reality. Ironically, it is a good thing – this versus her remaining unconscious in her ideologies. She immediately feels like she needs to take some action, not only to get her personal power back, but also to teach Azamat a lesson. She toys with the idea of enduring Azamat for the comforts he and his circumstances provide, and compares it to her reality back in the brothel. It is ironic that she chooses the brothel over her ideals. She weighs up her chances of freedom, and realises freedom is something that will never be hers no matter which path she chooses and so she chooses the path that aligns with her morals and beliefs. As the writer, believe in her choice.
This brings me to the ending of the play. When writing a series, I believe it is important that I keep each play episodic in nature, thereby being able to stand as its own story if performed in isolation, but also to form a greater story if all the plays are watched in the order they were written. For this reason, I chose an ambiguous ending. I think it is very powerful and intriguing when an audience gets to decide what they think has happened. Also, I love the idea of leaving audiences with something to discuss, afterwards. A discussion about the ending, could lead to so much audience consideration about the entire play, as well as the trilogy as a whole, and most importantly, a discussion about the devadasis. I chose to have Deva leave the stage, followed by a gunshot as offstage action. I wish for the audience to wonder whether Deva has killed herself or Azamat. Either possibility is plausible especially considering the dialogue before the shooting, as quoted from the script “I know what I must do” as well as the consequences for Deva after the fact. This ambiguity could be very shocking for the audience and could remind the audience that this is a very real situation, even in today’s times.

Following on from this, I chose to culminate the possibility of the entire play or existence and experience with Azamat being a dream by the final short scene. Deva is sleeping, in her original brothel outfit and a faint gunshot sound wakes her suddenly making her shiver, and the audience is left wondering whether the entire episode (the entire play of A Devadasi in Love?) was in fact a dream. This irony then also coming to culmination in the ridiculousness of a devadasi falling in love as is hopefully finally realized by the audience via the question mark in the title.
It is very real to have had a pivotal and all-consuming life experience feel like a dream in hindsight. It is also very real to have a powerful dream that teaches a lesson or profoundly changes you. I wanted to explore and play with these possibilities in the play and also leave the audience with the same self-explorative possibilities.

5. Conclusion

As explained above, most of the context of my work is based on personal experience: as a modern day devadasi, performing and taking money in return, being a businesswoman, a tax-payer, and contributing member of society, I can relate to the original devadasi women who had much societal and political influence in the times of their prime. The exposition of this story is important, I believe, in educating and informing people of the realities that face us today as being much the same as they were in the time of the devadasi – this enabling the narrative to “circulate socially as (a) cultural and social resource(s)” (Lawler, cited in Liddy, 2015: 601). I asked myself the following: how do I, through this trilogy, expose this in an attempt to stir some sort of positive societal growth? Feminist African writer, Ama Ata Aidoo declares that, “the committed artist has to be an activist […] whether through the mode of writing or other areas.” (Aidoo in an interview with Azodo, 1999: 436). This sums up what I attempted to accomplish in the writing of this trilogy. It is so important for me as a writer to utilise my moments on stage for the purpose of attempting to influence people positively.
Theorist and author, Neville Goddard described the consciousness of man as the manifestor and that of the female as the creativity behind that manifestation.23 These divine roles are only brought about through the light of consciousness, and cannot come as a result of the idealisms of love which, for example, Deva has. Only once I personally understood this, could I complete this play. It is indeed interesting how, for me, the creation of my work is a means of perspectivising my life and experiences. Hopefully this will have similar effects on my audiences.
It is very important for me to highlight at the culmination of this paper, upon the following; only through the reflection of writing this trilogy as fuelled by the writing of this paper, did I realise my personal stake for writing these plays – that of utilising Deva’s narrative as a means for understanding my own experiences in this life, and from there only was there a powerful enough


23 An audio recording of a talk given by Neville Goddard wherein he mentions this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRZ-kTIGRwY


message to be able to be understood and appreciated for social interests of audiences. In no way, did I directly and consciously realise that this was in fact a subconscious way of personal emancipation. And from there, in no way, is this the focus for audiences that come and view these plays. In no way would I even want or need them to make this association between writer and character, directly or indirectly. As an artist and in particular reference to me as a writer, this would be selfish. Even as an actor, it would be going against my understanding of, for example, Stanislavski’s portrayal of stepping into a character upon a neutral state of actor. And this is a crucial point for me to personally make peace with, as the writer, actor and performer of this work. When I step into Deva, I step away from my world and into hers. If anything it fuels me. It fuels me with the artistic integrity I feel is needed to take on such a mammoth task of attempting to portray the serious, sad and magnanimous topic of the devadasis, or in this case, one devadasi, Deva. Or taken to today’s times, the portrayal of sex slaves in Mumbai, India. It is an important story that needs to be told. It is not important for audiences to know the inspiration behind the writing. As the writer, however, it is truly liberating to understand where my motivations lie.
Upon visiting Amsterdam and the famous Red Light District in 2017, I profoundly realised its reality only when I saw first-hand that prostitution is considered a tax-paying profession for those practising and purchasing. Of course in theory, I knew this was happening, but to see it and face it head on rendered it a lived experience, praxis. It allowed a further layer of the importance of my message in the writing of this work, which I did not have before – that there are still rife sicknesses in the mind of human beings when it comes to their most private and sacred experiences – that of sex. Just as I attempt to free devadasis from negative subjugation, I attempt to free women by showing them that their sexuality is the part of themselves that is most worthy of reverence, power and great respect,
and not a mere act for the pleasure of men. I truly believe that when all women realise this, of course men will follow suit, and our Kali Yug will finally make way for our Golden Age.24


24 According to Indian Sanskrit scriptures, we are currently in the Age of the Machine or Kali Yuga, after which there will be a Golden Age.


6. Reference List

Cameron, J. (2000). The right to write: An invitation and initiation into the writing life. Sidgewick & Jackson.
De Bruin, H. M. de (2007). Devadasis and village goddesses of North Tamil Nadu. In H. Bruckner, E. Schombucher & P. Zarrilli (Eds), The power of performance: Actors, audiences and observers of cultural performances in India (pp 53-82). New Delhi: Manohar.
Kersenboom, S. C. (2013). Devadasis/Courtesans. In K. Jacobsen (Ed), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism (pp. 715-724). Boston: Brill.
Lewis, H. P. (2012). Dance of bliss. Cape Town: Ihilihili Press.
Liddy, S. (2015). Stories We Tell Ourselves: Writing the Mature Female Protagonist [Electronic version]. Sexuality & Culture, 19, 599-616.
Lidke, J. (2015). Dancing forth the divine beloved: A tantric semiotics of the body as rasa in classical Indian dance [Electronic version]. Sutra Journal, 1(2), 1-11.
Patil, S. (2017). Female Protagonist. International Journal of Educational Research Studies, 2(11), 817-820.
Phadke, P. (unknown). The digital media and it’s impact on the dance pedagogy of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2015, from www.academia.edu
Ringdal, N. J. (2004). Love for sale: A world history of prostitution. New York: Grove Press.
Tolle, E. (1999). The power of now. USA: New World Library.
Toscan, R. (2011). Playwriting seminars 2.0: A handbook on the art and craft of dramatic writing with an introduction to screenwriting. USA: Franz Press.
42
Walsch, N. D. (1998). Conversations with God: An uncommon dialogue. USA: Hampton Roads Pub Co Inc.
Wilson, E. & Goldfarb, A. (1991). Theatre: The lively art. USA: Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data.

If the Devadasi and her dance be ignited through divine servitude, need her sexuality matter?

Introduction

Devadasi (slave of God) ranks among the most controversial and powerful incentives of Western fantasies about the East” (Jacobsen, 2013: 715). Her dance and her sexuality are shrouded in mystery and intrigue. In this paper, I intend to begin to uncover the dichotomy between Devadasis and their Indian classical dance, with prostitution and courtesan behaviours.

“Academic discourse and popular politics have sensationalized the question of whether the devadasi was, or was not, a prostitute, in addition to being a dramatic and ritual performer” (De Bruin, 2007: 55).

1.1 Area of Research

The devadasi was mainly named that due to her activities in daily upkeep of the temple to which she is assigned. A servant[1], rather than a slave of God thus seems like a more appropriate term to describe her. Servant denouncing willingness to serve God, a slave insinuating having no choice or say in her profession. According to De Bruin (2007), she served God and the community in exchange for a high stand in society, financial support from the surrounding kingdoms and reverence as a human as she would take on the form of a Goddess in order to bless those around her through ritual or at various religious and community festivals and events.

Segregated prostitute practices of the world, have erroneously blanketed the holy nature of the devadasi who was a temple dancer – the entire fraternity of these women have been caste under the umbrella of prostitution. An ancient eastern practice that was not fully understood or appreciated has, as a result, lost its essence over time and the women of God who created and followed ancient classical Indian dance have lost their dignity and traditions, which was once very high in society. The dichotomy of the devadasi prevails:

As “container term,” it came to frame nearly all women working in the Indian public sphere, both sacred and secular; thereby it obliterated large differences in regional, historical, social and professional hierarchies… The encounter among Western travelers’, missionaries’, colonizers’, and Indian courtesans’ lifestyles produced highly divergent stereotypes. Thus the reception of their presence swung from adventurous discoveries to exotic fairy tales, from luxurious hedonism to moral indignation mixed with uneasy shame, and finally to a retrograde reification of a noble past that was in essence “spiritual,” eagerly shared by local and global audiences. (Nevile, cited in Jacobsen, 2013: 715)

Following this, by nature, a woman of those times might have been easily overpowered; however, she then had no choice but to do what she had to, to survive. The devadasi accepted her fate and allowed the tradition to be lost, in an attempt to either save her and her family from pain of negative association, or perhaps in an attempt to savour what last dignity this ancient practice had left by not defending the tradition to the patriarchal colonialists who had already overpowered the men in the Indian societies. Below an account of a devadasi named Dhanammal:

…in the present, degenerate time my children and their families-in-law think it is indecent: ‘Our girl-children will be labelled the granddaughters of a devadasi. It’s offensive. We don’t want to be associated with it.’ That’s the reason. My own children don’t want to have any connection with this profession. (De Bruin & Rajagopal, cited in De Bruin, 2007: 55)

1.2 Personal Involvement in the Field

According to the World Book Dictionary, a courtesan is “a prostitute at a court or among the nobility or wealthy classes” (Barnhart, 1993: 477).[2] In contrast, a Devadasi is translated as a “slave of god” (Jacobsen, 2013: 715). And a prostitute is defined as “a women who has sexual relations with men for money” (Barnhart, 1993: 1671).

How then, is it possible, for example, in Brill’s Encyclopaedia of Hinduism to subtitle a section as follows: “Devadasis / Courtesans”? Translation: Slaves of God / Prostitutes? If this is due to subjugation on the part of historians, society, the British colonialists or simply a patriarchal standpoint, then surely going back and fighting to free this hegemony is a worthy task for a 21st century modern Indian Classical Dancer? I believe I was a devadasi in a past life. Or perhaps I am a modern devadasi, one who values the religious and spiritual content of what my older sisters of the tradition practiced for a living. As an Indian dancer in a modern industry, western society and as a generally liberated individual, I find it personally insulting that the devadasi was put in the same category as prostitutes, for the simple reason, that I perform Indian dance and take money in return for same. This has enabled me to become an independent, free woman, next to and among women of other professions and as a result, stand financially independent through sharing Indian classical dance and it’s spiritual and religious content and nature with audiences, corporates and even temple and community gatherings. If I were a devadasi in my past life, where I devoted myself to temple servitude and dance, this for me would be an honour and not enslavement.

1.3 Socio-Historical Perspectives

Social circumstance, viz. British colonialism affected the devadasi and her standing in the community. The colonialists usurped the kingdoms and polluted the temple systems, yet these women who were noted for their wisdom and personal freedom did not seem to have the choice of whether or not to then enter into prostitution? If they did then choose prostitution, perhaps this was due to extreme desperation or enforcement on the part of corrupt officials. If some or even the majority did fall prey to prostitution for whatever reason as a last resort, then how and why were they all subjugated into such a broad category socially and historically? Is it because they were women? Or is it because they were dancers? Perhaps, because they were both? We might never find out, though I cannot see this being very far removed from modern times. De Bruin supports this theory and this investigation:

While the ‘sexual content’ of the devadasi tradition, and the way it reacted to the impact of modernity, needs further investigation, the equation of the devadasi with a prostitute is clearly an oversimplification and an inadequate explanation of the stigma that came to be attached to her person and her profession. Her stigmatization not only disqualified the devadasi from full social acceptance, it also made her reluctant to let her female relatives enter into the same profession and adopt her lifestyle. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)

1.4 The Argument

Lord Nataraja (or Shiva in His cosmic dance form as the God of Dance), dances the Shiva tandava or holy dance of Shiva which is generally taught to experienced, energized dancers who are mature enough to manage the stamina required to successfully embody Lord Shiva in this dance. Lidke (2015) on tantric semiotics describes the holy dance of Lord Shiva (tandava) as follows,

His dance embodies the Five Powers: creation, sustenance, destruction, concealment, and revelation. His dance is the totality of the cosmos. Its ultimate purpose is recognition… By dancing, God creates, sustains, destroys, conceals and re-cognizes himself by means of grace. (Lidke: 2015: 8)

Classical Indian dance is a powerful art form, seeping with religious and cultural content. It was codified in a most beautiful way by Lord Brahma (the Divine creator), in the Natya Sastra[3]. It is practised the world over in an attempt to share visually with audiences and societies the mythological and deistical stories which revolve vastly around bhakti (devotion) and reverence of the various Gods and demi-Gods, who form a large part of the Hindu way of life.

In modern societies, ideals such as freedom of speech are advocated. Therefore, in this paper, I endeavour to attempt to remove the negative veils of mystery shrouding this tradition which entrap Indian classical dance and thus, to uphold the positive truths about devadasis and their value to society.

  1. Historical Backdrop

The ancient Puranas (early verses pre-BC) and other religious Indian texts indicate that there was a recognized system of dance well over two-thousand years ago. These vedas[4] codify four pillars of enlightenment within Hinduism which encompass dharma (doing one’s duty), artha (earning spiritual and material wealth without attachments), kama (material and sensual enjoyment, with the senses under control), moksha (attaining salvation or liberation) (Bhalla, 2003: 3). Desire (kama), being part of the title of the ancient Vedic text by Vatsyana, entitled Kama Sutra, wherein love, relationships and sexual encounters are analysed and codified, as a means to reach the Divine through overcoming and conquering ones desires. Vatsyana describes different types of prostitutes as follows: a learned luxury prostitute trained in the 64 arts alluded to in the Kama Sutra is a ganika[5], a temple prostitute[6] is a devadasi, a cheap sex worker tempting men with her dress was a vecya, and one who ran after men was a pumscali. In the Vedic texts there are about 300 different terms for various forms of prostitutes indicating that prostitution was certainly a popular exercise (Ringdal, 2004: 71).

Why the temple dancer is in this category is unknown. Since Ringdal’s text is based largely on prostitution, perhaps this once again alludes to only that portion of devadasis who had chosen prostitution. It is no doubt present in the other sects of ancient Indian societies as cited by Vatsyana through Ringdal above.

Ringdal (2004) shares from Kautilya’s[7] script of Arthasastra how the caste system in 4th Century BC worked: Brahmin priests and nobility were kshatriya, merchants, farmers, artisans, musicians, actors and ganikas were middle class vaishya and purely working class were shudra. (Ringdal, 2004: 72)

The ganikas had their own hierarchy as well. The top stratum was directly linked to the king. Others were admitted to the court of the queen and princesses, while the lowest ranks were available to servants and low-status guests. One of the royal ganikas would ceremoniously be installed as the arthasastra – stately courtesan – and could assign status to women of lower ranks and mediate disputes among the prostitutes. The privilege was often passed down to an arthasastra’s chosen successor, since the position was also accompanied by a good income and less physical work. A good arthasastra would take care of any sister, daughter or cousin in the business, and her professional responsibility was to seek out the best qualified to carry the royal umbrella, prepare the food, or nurse the royal family. They all had to be obedient, beautiful, artistic, and able entertainers for the men of the royal household. (Ringdal, 2004: 73)

Furthermore, dance was considered a cure for illness, a means of worship, and through dance, one could attain redemption, or moksha (Lewis, 2012: 21). As evidence hereto, Lewis (2012) points out that “The Shiva Puranas state… Shiva’s temple must be supplied with girls who dance and sing” (Lewis, 2012: 25).

“The Siva Sutra proclaims the Self to be a dancer” (Lidke, 2015: 8). According to Lidke (2015), this is a cultural and historical reference to the long-standing tradition of classical dance in India. This dance was considered to be the 5th Veda and was developed by the 9th century into a primary form of temple worship through devadasis. Lidke (2015) further reiterates that

The Devadasi tradition as an integral expression of the Tantric vision of an integrated mandala system in which living kings connect to a divine king through a clan nectar that flows into the body politic through an elaborately orchestrated hierarchy of state rituals orchestrated within the state sponsored temple system and replicated, fundamentally, as individual puja. (Lidke, 2015: 8)

To this end, the devadasi and her body was to be the vehicle of rasa (mood) for the aesthetic satisfaction of the image within the temple. According to Pt. Nataraj Ramakrishna, who was interviewed by Lidke (2015), the devadasi’s purpose was to “witness your own deeper personality emerge out of you and stand before you as your own Beloved”. Through dance, the devadasi was able to infuse the Goddess to whom she was dedicated with her own awakened personality to become spiritually charged which was enjoyed by the deity and then tasted by the devadasi who then receives ‘blessing power’ (Lidke, 2015: 8).

2.1 Natya Sastra

In an attempt to portray the religious, spiritual and holy nature of Indian classical dance, I find it necessary to summarize key components by various scholars on the origins of Indian classical dance through sacred texts which were dictated by the Gods and are shared below.

The ancient North Indian Sanskrit text written by Bharata Muni called the Natya Sastra (200AD) is a complete treatise on the dramatic arts. It covers all aspects of drama and dance and discusses classical dance in a secular setting that was probably taught through an oral tradition for centuries. According to the Natya Sastra, there is no mention of a temple dance tradition, even though dance was performed on stage and privately on auspicious occasions, specifically to bring prosperity, as per slokam (verse) 328 of the Natya Sastra which states that “one who practises the art of Lord Shiva is cleansed of all sins and achieves Sivaloka”[8] (Muni, cited in Lewis, 2012: 21).

Why would she “sin”, knowing she would cleanse her sin the next time she danced? Alternatively, if she chose “sin”, did she do so knowing she would be cleansed after dancing? Prostitution can be considered a sin, but what about her sexuality in general?

On the origin of the Natya Sastra itself, tradition dictates that the Devas (minor gods) approached Brahma, the Creator, requesting a divine activity as a diversion from deteriorating lifestyles. Lord Brahma then assimilated the 4 Vedas, and upon instruction from Indra (god of heavens), he dictated the Natya Sastra to Bharata Muni. Semi-historical legends (Itihasas) were dramatised and Lord Brahma created Asparas (divine damsels) for the sole purpose of presenting exotic sentiment (Lewis, 2012: 69). Lord Brahma then instructed a rendition of a play for the enjoyment of Lord Shiva (God of Dance) who suggested the inclusion of nritta (pure dance) as an addition. There was some resistance for this inclusion which was finalised when Bharata Muni surmised, “It (dance) creates beauty and elegance, generally the world over there is a natural attraction to dance and besides, it’s auspicious” (Muni, cited in Lewis 2012: 70). A fight ensued, forcing the sons of Brahma who knew the contents of the Natya Sastra to be confined to earth where they married into the local population and created a dance caste known as the Bharatas, who upheld dance and drama for generations to come (Lewis, 2012: 71).

Lewis (2012) further iterates that according to the Natya Sastra

dance has always, in the Hindu religion, been equated with worship… dance was considered of such significance for the well-being of mankind that, as far afield as Indonesia, sculptors chiselled away so that dance poses described in the Natya Sastra could adorn the temples… dance and drama are gifts from the Supreme Deity. (Lewis, 2012: 73)

Referring to Natya (drama), the Natya Sastra quotes the following in chapter 36 shlokam 79, “one who practises this great art based on the Natya Sastra is elevated to the status of a Vedic Scholar, one who has performed sacrifices and an eminent benefactor (Muni, cited by Lewis, 2012: 73).

As modern exponents of this tradition, we are taught staunch rituals and practices as part of our dance training. For example, after arangetram[9] one is encouraged to wear a sari[10] at cultural events. One is encouraged to not consume meat or alcohol at least especially on dance days. One is considered a role model in society and an example to young girls in the community. These practises and observances denounce a way of life, an upkeep of tradition, a living personification of a goddess through divine depiction in action, social standing, and most importantly through her study of the dance form. The Natya Sastra provides the training and codification, but the devadasis embodied these ideals.

2.2 Court dancers vs. Temple dancers

It is essential to draw comparisons between these two sects of ancient classical dance, for somewhere in between these two threads, perhaps where they cross, lies the associations of courtesans and prostitution. Once again, I cite views by various authors on the distinction between these two sects below.

According to Kersenboom (2004), the traditional margam (repertoire) of the Devadasi, as prescribed by the Natya Sastra provides songs and dances for both pure ritual (to establish auspiciousness and destroy inauspiciousness) as well as devotional ritual (recreating divine stories and service either for comfort or entertainment). The richest offerings are for temple repertoires including compositions for the above divine purposes. Alternatively, “the king’s court requires more artistic sophistication and entertainment than is usually found in the temple” (Kersenboom, 2004: 138).

We now start to witness that the court dancers of the kings were more concerned with entertainment and aesthetics than in the temples. Perhaps this shift to the courts aided the devadasis’ holy deterioration. Prior to 500AD, dancers in temples served, worshipped and entertained the deities; there is comment on dance in auditoriums for the public and also specific forms of dance suited to the royal courts (Lewis, 2012: 25). There is always a direct distinction observed by scholars between court and temple, which is valuable to this study. However, even for some kings, there was holy power associated with the dancers. Between 100 and 300 CE, ancient Tamil texts reveal the female virali (skilled one) and patini (songstress) who are antecedents to the devadasi. “Their arts of song and dance are not mere entertainment; rather, they deliver efficacy of power and valiance to the king and his country, clan, forefathers, and victorious bravery in battle” (Jacobsen, 2013: 718).

Whether for temple or courtly purposes, the evidence above points out that the subject-matter or content of the dancing performed was of a holy or at least powerful nature. Bringing prosperity to kings and communities is an auspicious gesture and one that can be practised only by a pure soul – not only within her own consideration, but within the eyes of the temple priests, kings, princes and communities. There must have been a very strong association for devadasis to be considered powerful, pure, divine, ritualistic, and close to God. Whether sexual practices were associated with each and every devadasi, we don’t know, but that does not seem to have waived their spiritual and religious standing in the societies and surrounding kingdoms.

  1. On the Devadasi System

Since the devadasi tradition is shrouded in mystery, ambiguity, some deference and contrasting confusion, it is valuable to consider a few research opinions below. It is important to bear in mind that the tradition varies from state to state, considering there are 8 distinct classical dance styles stemming from various geographical areas in India, as well as a developing and morphing traditions which altered according to variations such as language, culture, climate, economics and certainly era.

In reference to Bharata Natyam,[11] which was previously called dassiatam, Phadke alleges that the devadasi was a woman who was wedded to the main idol of the temple and dance was her path to worship. It was a familial system, whereby only those following familial lines were allowed into the performing and learning space. Teaching was usually done by males belonging to the family of the devadasi’s (Phadke, 2015, 1).

In Ringdal’s (2004), Love for Sale, A world History of Prostitution chapter 5 entitled, “Hindu Ambiguity”, he describes generally that the Devadasi’s had a multi-function within the Indian society:

Young girls looked after India’s temples and pagodas; adult women coddled the Gods, much as daughters and wives did for their men at home, or as court ladies cared for the princes in their palaces. Every morning the temple girls sang and danced to honour the God; during the day they swept and cleaned, and fanned the images of the Gods so that they would not grow hot in the heat of the day. In the evening they again sang and danced for the God; they were a joy and an inspiration for earthly men who visited the temples. (Ringdal, 2004: 77)

According to Kersenboom, and various devadasi informants, the term devadasi is misunderstood due to the social stigma that became attached to it in the following way, “There is a Devadasi “life” (vrtti), and a Devadasi order or traditional right (murai, Tamil), but not a Devadasi caste (jati)” (Kersenboom, 2004: 134). Much like Hinduism itself is described as a way of life and not a religion[12].

Kersenboom describes the devadasi and her role as one which is ritualistic in nature. In comparison to the more abstract, quiescent principles associated with a (male) god, the (female) goddess is said to be creative in her ability to remove the evil eye that consumes everything:

The dynamic principle (of the female goddess) can be both destructive and protective. An excess of dynamism destroys; properly harmonized, however, it creates, nourishes and protects. A method was devised for controlling this dynamism from within: the creation of a female ritualist whose power (sakti) could be ritually merged with that of the great goddess (Sakti)… the Devadasi was such a ritualist. (Kersenboom, 2004: 136)

Similarly, following the tantric logic, De Bruin describes “the Goddess, of whom the Devadasi is a living embodiment, is the active power and source of fertility moving towards her human devotees” (De Bruin, 2007: 71). As much as her devadasi duties and way of life was for her own worship, the value of her life and power was greatly valued, utilized and needed by the people.

Kersenboom then describes the process involved in the validation and ordination of a Devadasi and this includes an initiation ceremony, involving the worship of her ankle bells[13], a marriage ceremony to the chosen deity, a dedicative branding, either by tattoo or heated metal if which it heals well, is a symbol of purity. The traditional view holds that all women, by their very nature, share in the power of the goddess.

To further reiterate the devadasi as a respected woman in society, Kersenboom describes in the imagined continuum of auspiciousness (mangalam), individual women are placed at one end of the scale or the other according to their status. At the top is the married woman whose husband is alive and who has borne several children: she is called ‘auspicious woman’ (sumangali). At the bottom of the scale is the widow for she is considered highly inauspicious. In ritual terms, however, the Devadasi exceeds even the sumangali auspiciousness. Two reasons are given for this. First, her individual female powers are merged with those of the goddess. Second, she is dedicated to a divine husband who can never die. Since she can never lose her (double) auspiciousness, she is called ‘ever auspicious’ (nityasumangali). (Kersenboom, 2004: 137)

According to de Bruin, the Devadasi system in North Tamil Nadu even pervaded the caste system and occurred at all levels of society,

However, it seems to have been practised on a larger scale by persons at the middle and higher, economically viable, strata of the rural society, perhaps because the custom and its patronage required financial input in the form of training expenses and the upkeep of the devadasi women. (De Bruin, 2007: 57)

De Bruin supports Kersenboom we shall see, by sharing her research gained from first-hand experience of devadasi, Tirumati M. Dhanammal:

Rural devadasis appear to have been instrumental in activating, representing, and containing dangerous sacred power, which accompanies the increased presence of the Goddess. They did so through their handling of ritual and dramatic services and through their own ‘presence’ or ‘being’ in the form of their life-long state as women dedicated to and merged with the Goddess. (De Bruin, 2007: 60)

According to De Bruin, the performance practices of devadasis indicates that they in fact were living substitutes or fragments of the Goddess. One of the last practicing devadasis who gave up her profession in 1973 due to family pressures, “Dhanammal described herself as ‘belonging to the Goddess’, as ‘an integral part of the Goddess’, ‘serving the Goddess’, and ‘being in bondage to the Goddess’” (De Bruin cited by De Bruin, 2007: 69)

“Her (Dhanammal’s) biography also testifies to the fact that modern society failed to provide a category for devadasi women who, through their alliances with their patrons, defied the caste system and the idealized picture of the Hindu domestic woman” (de Bruin. 2007: 54).

The sacred power is the through-line I find most evident in this study. Though her sexuality is under question, her holiness and power certainly is not. The strong, feminine and divine component of her being is undisputed and whether or not she as an individual had sexual encounters and of what kind, certainly seems unrelated to the respect she held and kept through her time as a devadasi.

  1. The link between Devadasis/temple dancing and prostitution

The British Rule in India brought about a structural change in the Devadasi system, from that mentioned above of being a familial system to a strong lack of royal patronage which reduced a number of the Devadasi’s to prostitution in order for them to fend for themselves. Dance thus became taboo in society due to the ambiguous identity of the Devadasis who was a dancer, and on some levels, a courtesan (Phadke, 2015: 1).

Kersenboom highlights that “European sources (both travelogues and missionary reports) usually depict Devadasis as ‘sacred courtesans’ who excel in the various performing arts (including the art of love)” (Kersenboom-Story, cited by Kersenboom, 2004: 135).

“The role of ‘dancer as courtesan’ is mentioned as early as 300BC in a text by Kautilya” (Lewis, 2012: 19). This was not only women, but also self-castrated eunuchs who were found around the temples of the goddesses. (Ringdal, 2004: 78)

There seems to be a definite link between a woman who dances and one who is sexually liberated. Whether this was a modern day promiscuous woman, one that is not afraid to revel in her femininity, one who liberates herself sexually, whether this was a court dancer who was popular and therefore rewarded financially by the nobility for her talent as a dancer, or mere prostitution, we might never find out. Though as there is a distinction today, the 300 different categorical terms used to denounce a “desirable woman” as described in the kama sutra, there surely was a deep understanding of the variations in the human psyche relating to sexuality in general and the divine dancer’s sexuality in particular.

  1. Exploring sexuality in Indian Cultural Practises

There is a strong allusion to sexuality in many facets of Indian culture, whether as seen in ancient sculptures which shroud the walls of many temples till today, simple perusal of the kama sutra or a general research taken on the devadasi tradition, this sexuality in itself is seen as something comparable to power and holiness, especially when conducted in specific ways as described in many different sects of Indian cultural practise. As evidence hereto, Ringdal (2004) quotes a piece of translated prose text contained in the ancient writings of India which was likely written in Old Indian, Sanskrit or Vedic:

The womb of woman is an altar,

Her nether hair is sacred grass,

Her skin the cup of her body’s sacred dram,

The lips of her sex, the fire that consumeth all. (Ringdal, 2004: 69)

Ringdal (2004) further iterates how Shiva was the protector of prostitutes[14] and that the formal consecration ceremony took place when the girls were ten to twelve years old:

They lost their maidenhood and became symbolically married to a tree, a knife, or a sword. In the Shiva temples, even the breaking of the hymen was ritualized, with Shiva worshipped in the form of a symbolic phallus, upon which the girls were ordered to take a seat. Before recorded history and in its earliest sources, most temple girls and Indian prostitutes generally were linked to the fertility cults of the maternal or love goddess. (Ringdal, 2004: 79)

Similarly, the Padma Purana (400AD), an ancient religious Hindu text relating to the creation and destruction of the universe, makes reference to specific group dances and also states that, “One who offers a beautiful woman to god attains Heaven for one full kalpa” (Padma Purana, cited in Lewis, 2012: 25). In what way or ways exactly a girl was to be “offered”, we don’t know. As sacred as these practises were, codified in Vedic texts, and as rewarded as the communities who believed in them, I wonder who decided what was to be considered “beautiful”, upon which scale this was measured, and if beauty is an aesthetic external, what is the significance of inner beauty in reference to the quote above?

To further this volatile question of beauty and aesthetics, Bohidar has studied the breasts as a means of worship “the female breast as a motif has played an important part in Brahmanical worship and representation since the Indus Valley Civilization” (Bohidar, 2015: 247). This is evidenced further by Bohidar as he goes on to present us with various scriptural stories which reference the female breasts as holy (Bohidar, 2015).

On erotic temple sculptures of Kajuraho, India, built between 950 to 1050 CE, Saini (2012) describes how “the twisted bodies of men and women in poses of blissful conjugality or uncomfortable sexuality have much more to tell about the medieval socio-cultural, religious practises” (Saini, 2012: 2). Furthermore, these sculptures have a large-scale representation of female subjects, “with or without male consorts but with accentuate contours and impossible postures” (Saini, 2012: 2). Also to be noted, on the subject of the sculptures, is that female figures outnumbered males and the solitary figure outnumbered couples. These women appear in various themes: amorous couples, men and women engaged in coitus, orgies, as a dancer accompanied with musicians, as a solitary figure engaged in various activities ranging from playing with a ball to suggestive masturbation (Saini, 2012: 3-4).

For a deeper meaning, women seem often to be associated with “fertility and growth: the biological fertility becomes a symbol of societal growth” (Dahejiya, cited by Saini, 2012: 7). For these reasons, several treatise of medieval (a period when the devadasi tradition was rife) art describe “ideas about the fertility of women and how should the same be depicted on the monuments” (Saini, 2012: 7), one of these depictions being that of the nartaki (dancer). These treatise also describe how couples engaged in coitus play an important role in decorating religious spaces, furthermore, “Agni Purana (10th Century AD) … recommended the doors of the temples to be decorated by” such couples as a “symbol of auspiciousness” (Krishnan, cited by Saini, 2012: 8). Saini highlights that it is not so interesting that these displays are present, but from whose perspective or for whose gaze was it intended? – Perhaps a draw-card for males to enter the temple space? It is suggested that these women were devadasis and that the sculptures display daily lives of these women (Saini, 2012: 10). These sculptures not only adorn the outer, but also the inner walls of temples, this then made historians argue that

The depiction of sexual congress in a sacred space can be seen as a symbol of the union of Purusa (man) and Prakriti (nature) bringing about moksha (eternal bliss). In Tantra, maithuna (sex) is a repetition of the primal copulation of the divine couple. In that sense, woman becomes the symbol of the feminine principal, who is active in this context. The importance of female sexuality as a marker of the fertility of the kingdom is further reiterated in the outcome of this congress. (Saini, 2012: 14)

Alles (1992), on the sculptures states that they “do not primarily affect people who stand still and observe them. They exercise religious power on people who approach and enter them” (Alles, cited by Saini, 2012: 15). Saini (2012) in conclusion, argues that these depictions of women, their associations to divine fertility and prosperity may be truth to an extent as per theories only, given the lack of recorded information on the sculptures. This won’t change the fact that “these women in stone hadn’t been eternalised by a woman sculptor, nor where they commissioned by a princess” (Saini, 2012: 15).

Saini (2012) gives rise to a very interesting observation which perhaps might provide a possible finality in understanding the demise of the devadasi tradition. The prevailing Indian male psyche of the time: one which is essential to, but not necessarily in harmony with, the female. If the female as an entity had the same standing in ancient times as she does today, there would not be this much misconception, misunderstanding, assumptions and taboos related to the devadasi and her tradition. In a patriarchal society, codified by men, ruled by men and governed by men, the devadasi and her glory had been negatively subjugated. Perhaps this is due to simple human fate, a part of God’s plan for the earth, which is the fruition of kali yuga (machine age) which will in turn have to end a deteriorating society before a new golden age emerges, or perhaps it could or can be altered, if a maternal power emerges equal or even more superior to the male. Perhaps this is what will eventually be the trigger to the dawn of the Golden Age?

One cannot help but wonder if this is how and why the divine in the devadasi was lost and as such, why she was then masked under the harsh umbrella of prostitution?

  1. Conclusion

By writing this paper, am I living in the past? Or is it a worthy cause to fight for? I don’t know. Passion is not enough to satisfy the human psyche, we have to utilize that passion to fight for our ideals, and that is what I attempt herein.

Lewis (2012), states that a devadasis role gave her power and privilege outside of the domestic context. She had control over her own life which was not so for the rest of Hindu womankind of the time who were uneducated, illiterate and confined to their homes in their various familial roles. The majority of women were trapped in their duties and routines. These restrictions contrasted with Devadasis who were open to community interactions through various events.

The dancing permitted ordinary women to vicariously express their sexuality, the secret needs and desires and fantasies that ‘respectable married women’ had to keep hidden. Women, forbidden to take pleasure freely, could, through the dance and role of the devadasi, indirectly indulge in their natural instincts and those healthy ambitions they were otherwise required to suppress (Lewis, 2012: 222).

Kersenboom (2004) concludes of the repertoire performed by devadasis in Tamil Nadu that

Their art was marked by a minimal attempt to achieve aesthetic effect. The songs and dances are extremely straightforward and simple. It is clear that they were considered a ritual task, one which had to be performed for the sake of its occurrence and not for the sake of its artistic form. (Kersenboom, 2004: 146)

Similarly, the devadasis of Tiruttani performed their song and dance without self-conscious pride. “Their attitude towards their repertoire remains respectful but matter-of-fact.” Kersenboom (2004) then goes on to quote Smt. P. Ranganayaki who gives Kersenboom her first-hand account of being a Devadasi, and even goes on to pass the Devadasi tradition onto Kersenboom:

What is there? … It is all gone; it will never come back… Nowadays, anyone can do anything on the stage or in the film… We were God-fearing. After we got our status as devadasis, we could decide for ourselves. If some of us were deserted by men, we still had our profession which afforded us a living… We had our own discipline! (Kersenboom, 2004: 147)

Is it fair to enforce negative subjugation on anyone? Furthermore, why has it and had it been enforced on such a profound matriarchal system? The devadasi system is possibly one of the few systems that gave the initiated devadasi woman a strong standing in the society and community that the patriarchy could not even touch. Why was this system, which is shrouded around an ancient art form, so frowned upon and taboo by people who don’t understand it? If the Devadasi was so free to choose her fate, then surely, even if 9 out of 10 of them chose prostitution, what about that one that did not? This, reiterated by De Bruin below:

Through the process of stigmatization modern society thus effectively accomplished the devadasi’s disinheritance of her own tradition, her economic and ritual disempowerment, and the disappearance of her person and performance from the rural stage. (De Bruin, 2007: 55)

Within De Bruin’s (2007) chapter 2 on “Devadasis and Village Goddesses of North Tamil Nadu”, more specifically the sub-section entitled “The ‘Unspeakability’ of the Tradition”, De Bruin (2007) examines why the devadasi tradition has become so taboo. Why has Contemporary Tamil society suppressed important aspects of the tradition?

Srinivasan (1985) accounts that devadasis as free women were considered ritual specialists in the handling of their sacred power, their economic self-sufficiency and their relative independence from where a male ‘head of the family’ started to become viewed as controversial. The social and religious status of the devadasis and their descendants started to devalue as a result of changing perceptions of the tradition stimulated by reform and revival movements which emerged from the developing colonial context and political arena of the time. This caused an erosion of local systems of hereditary economic rights and obligations for the devadasis and other rural performers. The devadasi then lost her honour derived from ritual association with deities as well as her influential bargaining power “toward potential patrons who wished to be associated with her as a form of social prestige” (Srinivasan, cited by De Bruin, 2007: 55-56).

Furthermore, De Bruin (2007), on a possible reason for the devadasis deterioration, “The upward mobility of persons, who traditionally were connected with the custom, may provide a possible explanation for the intensity of the stigma that came to be attached to the devadasis once the tradition had lost its social acceptance” (De Bruin, 2007: 57). De Bruin put forward that the sexually active Goddess and her devadasis possess a sacred power as an organic force and this sexually loaded presence in the form of the devadasi acquired a negative connotation under the impact of modernization, “they came to be seen as anti-modern and irrational, the domain of the illiterate and uneducated” as a result of marginalization, suppression and transformation by mostly the Brahmin traditions. She further points out that this causes an

Inner conflict of Hindu tradition and that it should be reviewed within the terms of its two interconnected and interactive poles. This inner conflict cannot be resolved, but it does readjust and rejuvenate itself continuously through subtle shifts in the social and ritual appreciation of the status and praxis of its human agents and institutions… The fact that the devadasis are well remembered but not much talked about by older rural informants, including Brahmins, is indicative of their struggle with this inner conflict. Perhaps the debate has only now begun, for the disappearance of the devadasis and other professional performers from the rural stage has left an uncanny void. This void is the result if the impossibility to activate and propitiate the ambivalent and dangerous village Goddess effectively because of a lack of ritual specialists. (De Bruin, 2007: 72-73)

For the longest time, the colonialists have harboured the blame for the deterioration of the devadasi, perhaps it is time to consider the subliminal possible reality – the Indian male himself, more specifically that the Brahmin tradition, burnt out its own goddess candle. The evidence points in many directions, there is no clear cut understanding or reason for the demise of the devadasi but there is certainly a worthy fight to uplift our fellow dance goddess sisters who from their grave pass their passions and plight to us modern soldiers of classical Indian dance. In conclusion, I stand next to, behind and among scholars who write with reverence on the tradition.

The devadasi in herself, is a blessing to mankind, as Lidke (2015) explains so eloquently from a Tantric standpoint,

As a form of worship… the Devadasis dance form is intended to please the lord… In this role, she is a priestess whose own body conveys those aesthetically encoded messages of enjoyment by which body gestures, abhinaya (expression), conveys rasa (mood). As a Tantric messenger she brings to her lord and husband a knowledge contained in that continuum of rasa that binds refined aesthetic moods to bodily fluids identified as microcosmic equivalents of the geological and cosmological life energies that all reflect the flow and vibration of sakti within the extended interwoven body of the Tantric godhead. (Lidke, 2015: 9)

Munsi (2008), as cited by Sanjeewa gives us a more modern standpoint on the social pressures which affect temple dance and the devadasi in India:

…In an unfortunate country where life’s vigour has waned, dancing vitiates into catering for a diseased mind that has lost its normal appetites, even as we find in the dance of our professional dancing girls. It is for you to give it health and strength and richness… (Munsi, cited in Sanjeewa, Unknown: 2)

It is very interesting to note, Ringdal (2004) deduced that although Indians had codified religious texts to live by, Megasthenes[15] observed how “nobody in India could think or speak in historical terms” (Ringdal, 2004: 71). Ringdal (2004) deduces here from that although there is a vast body of knowledge on Hindu culture from poetry, philosophy and law, events cannot directly be described due to the “weakness of Indian historical tradition, which would long continue to alienate travellers, invaders, and new rulers who continued to view Indian ways as fabulous or superstitious” (Ringdal: 2004, 71). This interesting observation and summation fuels a great possibility for one of the major reasons for vast mystery within the devadasi tradition in a historical sense.

In my opinion, the only way one can attempt to understand the devadasi is to attempt to step into her shoes. As one who has been gifted the opportunity to study the dance style as she did in her times, I believe I can better step into her shoes than someone who has not. If through the practise of Indian classical dance, one is allowed the unique opportunity for a woman to merge her soul and her body as one, she is a vessel of truth and power. Her body becomes her temple, which in turn becomes a temple for those around her. Her prayer is powerful, her eyes are deep, her soul is on fire, and her truth is real. This attainment is in any spiritual view one which individuals strive to attain, one attainable through the practise and study of ancient classical Indian dance, which is a means to attain enlightenment in this human life. I would choose it again, and I am thankful it chose me. Sexual or not, I would serve God again and again as a devadasi.

  1. Bibliography

Alles, G. D. (1993). A fitting approach to God: on entering the western temples at Kajuraho. History of religions, 33(2), 161-186. Retrieved on 3 July 2016 from www.jstor.org

Bhalla, H. (2003). The Bhagavad-Gita: Abbreviated. Hong Kong: Granco Printing.

Bohidar, A. (2015). Worshipping breasts in the maternal landscape of India [Electronic version]. South Asian Studies, 31(2), 247-253.

Bruin, H. M. de & Rajagopal, P. (2000). In their own words: The unheard history of the rural Tamil stage as told by four of its professional exponents (video interviews with P.K. Bhupati, M. Dhanammal, M. Shanmugavalli and P. Rajagopal). Leiden: International Institute for Asian Studies.

Bruin, H. M. de (2007). Devadasis and village goddesses of North Tamil Nadu. In H. Bruckner, E. Schombucher & P. Zarrilli (Eds), The power of performance: Actors, audiences and observers of cultural performances in India (pp 53-82). New Delhi: Manohar.

Kersenboom-Story, S. C. (1987). Nityasumangali: Devadasi tradition in South India. New Delhi: Motilal Barnasidass.

Kersenboom, S. C. (2010). The traditional repertoire of the Tiruttani temple dancers. In J. Leslie (Ed), Roles and rituals for Hindu women pp. 131-149). Retrieved April 24, from www.academia.edu

Kersenboom, S. C. (2013). Devadasis/Courtesans. In K. Jacobsen (Ed), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Hinduism (pp. 715-724). Boston: Brill.

Lewis, H. P. (2012). Dance of bliss. Cape Town: Ihilihili Press.

Lidke, J. (2015). Dancing forth the divine beloved: A tantric semiotics of the body as rasa in classical Indian dance [Electronic version]. Sutra Journal, 1(2), 1-11.

Munsi, U. S. (2008). Boundaries and beyond. Problems of nomenclature in Indian Dance History. Dance: transcending borders. Retrieved June 14, from www.warwick.ac.uk

Nevile, P. (1996). Nautch Girls of India: Dancers, Singers, Playmates. New Delhi: Nevile Books.

Ringdal, N. J. (2004). Love for sale: A world history of prostitution. New York: Grove Press.

Saini, S. (2012). The representation of women in the erotic sculptures of Khajuraho. Retrieved April 24, 2016, from www.academia.edu

Sanjeewa, W. (unkown). (Bha)va, (Ra)ga, (Tha)la, Natyam: Socio-cultural overview of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2016, from www.academia.edu

Srinivasan, A. (1985). Reform and revival: the devadasi and her dance. Economic and political weekly. 20(44), 1869-1876.

Phadke, P. (unknown). The digital media and it’s impact on the dance pedagogy of Bharatanatyam. Retrieved April 24, 2015, from www.academia.edu

  1. Sanjeewa describes her as a “servant of God”.
  2. A court dancer and a devadasi had distinct roles in ancient Indian cultures, which will be discussed in section 2.2 of this paper.
  3. Natya Sastra is discussed further in section 2.1 of this paper.
  4. Ancient Indian texts.
  5. Ganikas “were adept at reading and writing and of course could sing and dance. The ganikas could carry royal parasols and fans, wear gold jewellery and beautiful dresses… (their) services were legally recognized; they could hold money and possess land and slaves” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
  6. We can assume that the term “prostitute” as used here is once again a subjugation perhaps through translation, the devadasi is once again erroneously hegemonized.
  7. “Kautilya was the first political philosopher in Indian History… Arthasastra… describes social and economic conditions…” (Ringdal, 2004: 72).
  8. Liberation.
  9. A maiden performance done for the public and critics, to introduce the dancer to the audiences as a young woman ready for the stage.
  10. Traditional Indian attire worn by women. It is a long cloth draped elegantly around the body.
  11. A classical dance style originating from Tamil Nadu in the south of India.
  12. There are no rules as such in Hinduism. There are ideals to ascribe towards but no material punishment for non-compliance. Everything is based on free-will and choosing a morally pious existence in this life so that liberation of the soul can take place and one need not be re-incarnated to live another life on this earth.
  13. A dancer ceremoniously takes blessings from her ankle bells each time before she wears them to dance. There is also an initiation ceremony at the start of a dancer’s career where the teacher or Guru blesses her bells, ties them around her ankle, and she stamps on rice which senior dance students assist her in balancing on, while she does so.
  14. If Ringdal (2004) was referring to devadasis here, then I disagree with the use of the word “prostitution” in this context. His global study on prostitution is fascinating and informative, but if a devadasi is what he studied from an Indian perspective, there is certainly place for argument as this study once again indicates.
  15. A Hellenic ambassador to the Mauryan Empire who provided the West with its first comprehensive report about India.
Performing, Reflecting insights gained through four different examples of First-Hand Performing Experiences

LCTL Performing (Performance Arts)

Reflective Practice

PERFORMING, REFLECTING INSIGHTS GAINED THROUGH FOUR DIFFERENT EXAMPLES OF FIRST-HAND PERFORMING EXPERIENCE
“I sometimes get nervous and feel like I have butterflies in my stomach. But then I go on stage, I open up my mouth and they fly out.”
– Mikaela Danchenko

Aarti Narotam

 

Introduction

In this essay, I wish to analyse, discuss and critically reflect on experiences and insights gained through four different first-hand performances of varying styles of performance art. The productions chosen have each been a personal pinnacle of growth for me as an artist and although they vary vastly, it is through that variation that my clearest insights have flowered within my understanding, purpose and journey as an artist.

Since Indian dance, mythology, music and drama is my field of expertise, I will make specific reference to a critical comparison and appreciation of western theatre through my studies and knowledge of Indian performance art. There are close similarities, and also vast differences between the bodies of eastern and western theatre studies, and this scale of comparison and analysis fascinates me through its subtle overlaps in certain areas as well as distinct features which set the two apart.

In my experience, each sect has its place of appropriateness, yet my passion has now become merging the theatre of the east and the west by exposing the richness and depth of cultural, religious, mythological and ancient styles of the eastern theatre with the sublimely deep vertical study of characterisation, acting and secularity of the western theatre. Not only through theorists such as Stanislavski, Brecht, Artaud, Meyerhold and Grotowski but also through the fascinating, endless and vastly diverse body of western theatre that is codified in a way that eastern theatre, being vastly an oral tradition, is not.

“Intelligence is not to make no mistakes, but quickly to see how to make them good.” – Bertolt Brecht

1.Medea

Medea, the Greek tragedy, set in modern times and brought to stage under the direction of Marlene Thomasse-Pieterse in 2012. I played the role of the Doctor, who was one of three female characters being closest to Medea and her children. Instead of having only a nurse – the dialogue was split into three and spread between the Nurse, Doctor and PA to Medea. The text was kept to its classical originality by Euripides and translated by Ian Johnstone but the interpretation of Pieterse was stark, bold, Avant guarde and angry, even though this anger was balanced by the soft nuances of certain choral passages which tagged at the heartstrings of the audience.

The first thing about this ancient tragedy which resonated with me, was its timeless nature exploring ever prevalent human issues including betrayal, infidelity, revenge, power, deception and more than anything the woman and her subservience to a society dominated by men. These resonating themes echo through time immemorial and continue to plague our society to the depths of the most intricate of human mind games therefore this representation of dramos captivates audiences till today.

Due to the complex mythological context of the play, an in depth research and study into the ancient Greek realm was needed. This was crucial to the understanding of the text and its political and geographical references which prevail not only in direct relations, but also when characters are coming to personal conclusions, references are often made to historical, spiritual and mythological ideas, stories, characters, deities, and even planets, elements and concepts. Without this detailed research at the commencement of the rehearsal process, one certainly cannot expect to understand and fully relate to the characters or the story. Greek mythology, much like Indian mythology, all relates in some way or the other as myths overlap and characters are given more depth via other mythological stories and plays regarding the same characters in different stages of their lives and different contexts. Medea might be the lead character in this story, but in another, say for example, “Jason and the Golden Fleece”, she would be a minor character. This interesting nuance provides a deep appreciation for the complexity within which Greek texts as a whole were written and are subsequently appreciated by scholars such as myself.

The challenge of acting in a modern setting of an ancient play lies in the fact that firstly, one has to take the mind back more than 2500 years ago to a Golden Age of Greece where super humans interacted with Godly beings, beasts, super powers, extreme wealth and a society generally advanced in every aspect of human existence. Since then, there has been no such reality on earth, and so to grasp that such high beings were exposed to such human issues as are explored in Medea is a realisation which takes patience, research and an open mind to appreciate.

After taking the mind there and attempting to accept that as a reality in order to successfully embody this play, a modern interpretation can then flow lightly and smoothly in execution, understanding and general cast acceptance of energy and flow required for this play.

The richly-laden text cuts through modern language as its imagery becomes the focus in all its subtle beauty. The text itself was deeply analysed by the cast with direction from Pieterse as to how to make the text accessible, understood and successfully rendered to the audience by the actors. The challenge in this, was remembering the body and mind of the character, by not focusing solely on the dialogue and the delivery thereof. To make the heightened text real, current and true, I had to do extensive individual rehearsal in front of a mirror which helped to gauge if my facial expression were a true reflection of the meaning of the text which served to be my greatest challenge.

The beauty of acting in a classic play for me, lies in the enlightenment up to the last performance which comes from text. As a modern actor, no matter how much time one puts into rehearsal and research, the greatest insights come through the flowering of one’s own mind which happens as quick and beautiful but lasting as does a shooting star flickering clearly on a beautiful moonlit night

2. Devadasi – A dancer’s journey from the temple to the streets…

A play directed, choreographed and produced by myself performed fourteen times around South Africa as well as in Mauritius. This one woman dance drama depicts a modern day interpretation of the story of a Devadasi living in India during the late 1800’s. A Devadasi was a girl “married” to the temples or sold to temples when families could not afford to look after their female offspring. These girls would be funded by Kings or court circles of the surrounding areas and their duties included cleaning temples as well as being involved in devotional praise through festivals and community observances. During their free time, these girls would do devotional dances in praise of the Gods and deities. This was the birthplace of many of the classical Indian dance styles which we observe today, viz. Bharata Natyam, Kathak, Kuchipudi, etc. This tradition was common practise for hundreds of years until the British colonized the land and confined many of these girls to brothels, having no understanding of a temple worker and her high standing in the society within which she lived.

Deva, the lead character in this play is one such Devadasi in one such temple. Her personal insights come as a result of looking in her mirror in her room and upon seeing her reflection, she shares through the fourth wall, her deepest thoughts and feelings with the audience. This drama is written with the Italian Neoclassical Rule of Verisimilitude in mind. The play is a “slice of life” of Deva and portrays only one hour of one day of her existence.

The saddest thing about this character, is her resounding resonance with woman all over the world, throughout time, in various situations and settings within the psyche of a woman’s existence in a man’s world. Portraying such a character, opened a door to so many other such situations and became a universal communicative platform of sharing whereby after seeing the play, women became inspired to share their own stories by identifying with the characters’ deepest nuances which as a woman, we sometimes never share with family or friends, let alone with an audience.

“I want to burn with the spirit of the times. I want all servants of the stage to recognize their lofty destiny. I am disturbed at my comrades’ failure to rise above narrow caste interests which are alien to the interests of society at large. Yes, the theatre can play an enormous part in the transformation of the whole of existence.”
― Vsevolod Meyerhold

 

To put oneself into the shoes of a Brothel worker in ancient India, I had to do in depth research into the fascinating existence of these Devadasis. The fact that she landed up in a Brothel at the untouchable end of society, coming from the highest standing of caste and creed within the temple confinements of kings and court circles, is the most fascinating and deeply ironic facet to the character’s persona and journey.

Her terrible fate becomes her saving grace… If it wasn’t for her deep devotion growing up, she wouldn’t have been able to be so strong and resilient within her “new” life. She has blindly pushed on through without doubting that she is there for a reason, but today, something is different… for the first time during her dance for men in the Brothel, she notices what her dancing is doing to them, i.e. the reaction it receives or stirs within the men watching her. Prior to this day, she would escape into her dance and take her mind away from where she is, just to dance which is her nemesis. Today, she notices for the first time that she is responsible for men behaving in the way they are because she is dancing for them. As if for the first time her eyes are opening and she cannot handle what she sees. Throughout the dance she slips in and out of a “dance-haven” within her mind, and a conscious realization of the brothel and the men. She eventually runs off the stage in complete devastation of her plight.

She launches into a monologue describing her turmoil as the truth in front of her very eyes is being uncovered from beneath a metaphorical mask she has been wearing for far too long. She questions her devotion, her God, her standing as a woman, as a human, and as a devotee of the Lord. She is the one who teaches younger girls in the brothel about God and inspires their hope by singing devotional songs, yet she feels the Lord has abandoned her in her quest for salvation.

To explore such a deeply heart wrenching topic on stage through such a character of ancient origins takes most importantly of all a brave and open heart, mind and soul, to be able to receive the understanding and portrayal of such a character’s innermost feelings and realisations.

Deva ends off with a devotional Indian classical dance, 23 minutes in length and in praise of Krishna. In this dance, she explores many mythological stories of Krishna blessing various beings throughout His life. After enacting same, she asks why the Lord can’t bless her, not even a little? She is about to accept her fate that the Lord won’t come to her but as soon as she detaches from the expectation and closes her eyes in surrender, the Lord appears to her. The music changes gear and the mood of the dance develops from one of devotional praise and longing to enactment of various pass times of the Lord in complete adoration and praise in awe of the appearance Lord Krishna has made to her here, now, today, during the time when she least expected and was almost about to give up.

With the success of this play, I launch into a series of plays giving other insights into Deva’s life in the form of a prequel and a sequel to Devadasi and other stories at various other pivotal points in her life.

 

3. Bhakti

“A gesture is a movement not of a body but of a soul.”
– Feodor Chaliapin

 

A devotional dance drama featuring live musicians, a poet and 17 dancers from various classically trained backgrounds including ballet, contemporary and Indian Classical Dance. “Bhakti” means devotion, and is a devotional expression of the inner truth of each dancer through their dance, to the divine. This personal expression formed quite a challenge for me, in that I was so used to going to extremes within my acting to find the character that I initially struggled to find a character since none was given.

Choreographer and director, Lliane Loots, unified the dance style through a workshop process of a full calendar month. The entire cast had to leave their dance training and comfort zone at the door of the rehearsal room. It was communicated, that the live music would come in afterwards, and we are to work with rhythms we, ourselves create within our minds and the dancers had to hold strongly onto those rhythms in their mind, as when the music eventually came in, it in itself had its own rhythm, nuance, style and vibe. This interesting process was both a challenge and a blessing.

Coming from a Classical Indian dance style, where each toe, finger, or eye movement has a reason and place, set to a particular beat within a structured rhythmic style proved to be a huge contrast. Yet, I was chosen for “Bhakti” based on the strength within my Indian Classical Dance. I, along with the other dancers were not to worry though, as Loots had a very particular reason for the above, and knew exactly where she was taking the production. This proved to be the greatest, most exciting and challenging learning curve within my dancing throughout my entire dance career thus far, of about 25 years.

Through this journey, I was stripped completely of what I thought was my dance identity, and rebuilt myself as a stronger, kinder, happier, healthier dancer. I believe that this is the greatest gift which contemporary African dance provides to the entire fraternity of dance. One is encouraged to go with an inner rhythm, and trust that rhythm within so much that it transcends all borders and barriers we create within ourselves and each other through different dance styles.

Once we found a common understanding between the groups, Loots then taught us a unison sequence of only about 16 x groups of 8, which we later learnt would be the essential language of the production. The entire rest of the production was a workshopping process which was fuelled by a stimuli of either words, instructions or feelings of dance expression and bhakti (devotion).

The workshop process:

  1. The cast was split into groups of 4 or 5. Each group was told to create a piece borrowing movements from the unison sequence, but being sure to make it your own, to include aspects of our own classical styles as well as develop new styles, to have some unison between the group, and some individual pieces, and lastly to include at least a few lifts. This parameter was the minimum, and the maximum would be the depths of each group’s imagination and strengths. The beauty, unity through diversity, skill and subtlety which came out of this was sublime.
  2. The cast was split into pairs, with one group of 3. Each pair was told to formulate a piece whereby each person was to enter from an opposite side, spin in to their partner, and upon meeting, create a piece encompassing a greeting towards one other, including an acknowledgement of the other person and yourself, and a new identity through the unique pairing of you with your partner. This was a very exciting piece to put together, because it was the start of each dancer’s digging more into their own style. I was at this point starting to become proud and confident to borrow from Indian Classical Dance and share and develop movements with my partner. The beautiful unbounded African Contemporary style also prevailed and the collaboration started to become more definite and comfortable.
  3. The cast was again split into groups of two or three. This time the brief was to stick to our essential dance style and create a sequence through which to travel from one side of the stage to the other. By this time, the cast members were fully engaged into Bhakti, and the most beautiful sequences prevailed. It was also a time for me to work with another Indian dancer and together we combined our styles.
  4. The last group piece worked on proved to be the most difficult, ironically, it was an Indian classical dance section. Three of the Indian Classical Dancers (myself included) had to work together in creating what turned out to be an 8 or so minute piece utilising and showcasing the best of our skills together.
  5. The finale of the show encompassed a scene whereby each individual dancer had to prepare a solo stationery piece with the brief of showing through gesture and small movement what dance means to each individual. I thoroughly enjoyed this, and came up with my best work, I feel, in the entire production. The culmination of this expression of each dancer’s personal bhakti (devotion) turned out to be a beautiful ending to this production and each dancer’s solo was completely unique, skillful and devote in nature.

The process culminated when all the above listed pieces were put together to the musical accompaniment of the tabla (Indian drums), Jembe (African drums), guitar and live poet, Iain “Ewok” Robinson, who recited poetry which he scripted himself after seeing the dancing and followed a through-line of 12th century Sufi poet, Rumi, and his exploration of the spinning Dervishes to attain liberation. This spinning, which was reminiscent of the Sufi tradition tied in nicely with dance, as spinning is a key element of any and most, if not all dance styles. This uniting element assisted in the smooth transition and linking of the different styles and pieces.

I had to search for a character externally, exploring the ideas of being a spirit of dance, and a Sufi. Because the production was allowed to be made so deeply personal by Loots, I could not bring myself to ask her about characterisation. Among the cast, though, there was much discussion and thinking about it. In the end, I came to the conclusion that the character I was portraying, was my spirit in human form, which is me, but without my life experiences, attachments and nuances. I was just a spirit, fuelled by God’s energy and enlightened in movement through devotion to art, dance and of course God. I found that this deep realisation allowed my dancing to be even more free yet personal, and this landed up being a completely transformational, outer body experience for every single audience member throughout the 8 performances of “Bhakti”.

“The soul does not like to be without its body because without the body it cannot feel or do anything; therefore build a figure in such a way that its pose tells what is in the soul of it.”
– Leonardo da Vinci

Through “Bhakti”, I experienced the nature of a professional dance company, viz. “Playhouse Dance Residency” and Loots’ “Flatfoot Dance Company”, Durban, South Africa. The standard of professionalism, style of directorship and workshopping process was a once in a lifetime opportunity for the entire cast. By the end of “Bhakti”, we were a family and one which was born of the connection with the Divine which we all felt through our dance and were allowed to extend, explore and bask in, in this production.

4.Inde Le Ndlela

Translation, “The Road Is Long”, a political comedic musical based on a historical journey through the struggle of South Africans and more particularly the Xhosa and Koi San traditions. The play is told through a satiric rendition of a female Mayor of Port Elizabeth who is preparing to hand over an RDP (Reconstruction and Development Program) house to a 72 year old citizen who registered to receive same. The drama unfolds as the citizen, who currently lives in a shack, refuses to accept the house due to her wounds being too deep for the house to serve as a “magic pill”.

“An actor’s exciting profession is one of responsibility… Ethics, profound knowledge, and a highly artistic form of expression…”
– Sonia Moore

 

I played the role of Stella, PA to the Mayor, who is hell-bent on pleasing the Mayor’s every need armed with a bottle of water, a pen in her bun, a clipboard and her phone. She has for years been the right hand of the Mayor so much so that she can almost anticipate the Mayor’s needs before the Mayor herself does. She is fast, efficient, and very loyal in devotion to her PA services.

This day, as the function and preparations for the “Official handover of the RDP house” is going to take place, same also coincides with the Minister of Housing as well as the President of South Africa coming to the city to possibly fire the Mayor from her position.

As the drama unfolds, chaos ensues as the Mayor starts losing her mind, in, on one hand, trying to convince the old lady to accept the house (“failing which, the Auditor General is going to call this wasteful expenditure”), and on the other hand hearing the sirens of the President’s VIP Guard closing in on her to mark the end of her employment.

During all the chaos, Stella is the only calm and sane force amongst the ridiculousness of the government’s circus and makes a switch in the character when the Mayor accuses her of being a traitor and “working for the opposition”. The character of Stella has much more depth than I initially thought, and this allowed a quite vertical study into the realm of comedy, which is a new genre for me to have explored. The comedy sometimes hides a characters depth, and this allows for a satirical, almost stock character-type mask to be worn whereby the comedy takes the character through, relying on slapstick gestures and improvisation at times. The rehearsal process of 5 weeks took quite a journey for me to find the character and through exploration of her comedic traits, I found insights of myself whereby the character had a solid thought structure, and a method behind her madness. She completely changes gears in the play and this shift stumped me in the beginning.

What I learnt from this journey is that a respectable rehearsal period allows for a true and reflectively honest portrayal of character. It is one thing to rehearse alone, and quite another to explore and “play” as the Director (Xabiso Zweni) would allow. This “play” allowed a fun side of the character’s seriousness and I enjoyed having that freedom to really explore nuances of a character’s personality.

The director’s style was very dynamic, fresh and adventurous. At times, as an actor, one was allowed the comfort and freedom to allow personal insights to mould and sometimes differentiate the character’s original thoughts and directions, while the Director focused on the music and dance. These growth-of-character moments were welcomed by the Director which made the experience even more artistically and creatively liberating. I think this came from a true trust relationship and detachment from the Director which gave freedom to the actor and his/her expression.

Conclusion

Since I was initially trained for performance through dance (which commenced at age 3), I have always been comfortable with my body in a way where exploration of character has taken the form of body first, then into the mind and emotions of the character. This is a very personal approach and is one that found me, rather than an approach which I strived towards. A deep self-analysis is needed in order to actually gauge which approach works for you as the performer. And only through practical experience can this process become easier and more moulded to you as a person. I think it is a journey that never ends, and constantly evolves dependent upon many variants including your age, genre, character, writing style, directing style, etc. etc. etc. These varied journeys that each artist goes through is truly a fulfilling and exciting one which is totally personal and completely an introverted process. It is ironic that the mind in its exploration of acting holds the only profession whereby what is in the mind is reflected through an artistic expression of the body and soul.

Another very important transition process which I choose to implore is “MAC”.

ME → ACTOR → CHARACTER

Marlene Thomasse Pieterse’s MAC model depicts a very simple yet profound process to enable a person to step out of their life into a neutral state of actor, through warm-up, breathing, meditation and relaxation, or whichever method should suit the individual to step into the neutral space of “actor”, and thereafter to step into the shoes of the character. The character then can be dressed onto a blank canvass, the actor, and not onto an already established person, with their own characteristics, traits, weaknesses and strengths. This neutral state of actor also enables other skills to be successfully added to the character, viz. Laban movement, body type, body characteristics and style, which is what enables me personally to delve into a character.

In my opinion, the greatest gift that stage experience gives an actor, is life experience. There is no better way to learn than to put oneself in the shoes of another, and this ancient life lesson we are subjected to in many different situations is ironic in that acting allows one to selflessly embody a character and the more selfless that embodiment, the greater the value of the lesson learnt through the portrayal of that character.

 

 “I cannot conceive any work of art as having a separate existence from life itself”
– Antonin Artaud, The Theater and Its Double

 

My personal life lessons learnt from my four acting experiences analysed above include:

  1. Medea – Human issues are timeless, culture-less, race-less, circumstance-less, and devoid of any divisions we as humans create amongst ourselves and each other. Children always suffer as a result of bad decisions made by the parents involved, yet children come to this earth to learn their own lessons and although they be innocent, there is no toying with karma or destiny, and in essence God and His will. Playing the role of the doctor, gave the character a true objective opportunity for comment within the play. This objectivity of my character allowed the doctor to remember the importance of remaining objective without much emotional involvement, therefore being a voice of reason to Medea. In life it is so important to always remain objective and give all sides of a situation a fair hearing before offering judgement or opinion.
  2. Devadasi – A woman with a bad experience need not resort to self-pity or regret as her only escape. Even though it is so difficult to choose positivity after being through a bad experience, if one chooses hope and resilience then at least the outcome is the best one all things considered. We live in a society and culture of no accountability or responsibility. If each person looks at themselves and their actions then an abused woman can choose action that will make her not be abused again. A “victim” attitude is never going to get one anywhere. The pivotal point of the play is not for the audience to feel sorry for Deva, but to appreciate her choices, including teaching the younger girls about God, to appreciate her sense of humour despite her fate and to enjoy her dancing as her escape despite the sad circumstance under which it is practised. If deep and sensitive issues are tackled on stage, youth in our audiences can learn lessons and also have a personal connection to the character even if all they take is an enjoyment of hope or an appreciation for the dancing.
  3. Bhakti – Dance is not only a medium of showcasing Classicality, it can also be very experimentative in its exploration, and with a brave and courageous Director who is willing to take artistic risks, something new and wonderful can be created. To step out of one’s classical comfort zone does not have to take the essence of one’s art from them. In fact, it does the opposite, I found a new beauty within my Indian Classical Dance. I am no longer afraid of trying to incorporate an African Contemporary jump or contraction into a new Classical piece if it adds to the meaning and aids the complexity and skill level of the piece in question. “Bhakti” and Loots have changed my outlook on dance, and this change is the best kind.
  4. Inde Le Ndlela – Politics, the corruption within Government organizations, and the blatant arrogance and gall of certain people in power is a common, very real situation that we as a society find ourselves in. The blatancy of it all makes it comedic for us as citizens of South Africa, in that the same unaccountability I referred to earlier seems to be a general cultural and societal behavioural pattern. Certain occurrences in our country are so frustrating and embarrassing that if we don’t make the choice to laugh it off, we might die of anger, bitterness and resentment. In vast contrast to the political dispensation we as a country face, we as citizens have a very open, also blatant and deeply ironic freedom of expression in this regard. Our governmental situations fuel many artists in South Africa with subject matter to comment on and point fun at. This freedom of expression is as blatant as the political blunders and still the ones on top are completely oblivious to their own actions. This deep irony helps me in my life to be grateful for a beautiful country, beautiful people, a rainbow nation, a country coming from struggle to liberation and a freedom to comment on it all.
    “Good theatre is theatre of profound thought and profound spiritual experience.”
    – Sonia Moore

     

Without being overtly focused on the divisions which separate western and eastern theatre, I could not have come to the niche of where my understanding is now… Theatre is not a means of separation between styles, or exploitation of classics, or reverence of certain styles and not others. We have come to a place in time whereby divisions are our uniting factors and no more can a group of people be labelled as this or that, each individual on this earth has their own place, story, identity and form of expression. To be a performer is to be bold, to study your art, to refine your talent and to gauge an intellectual understanding of what you intend putting on stage and what the purpose of it is. If as a performer, one takes money from an audience member and expects their attention for the duration of that show, the performer must make sure that there is quality, substance, and valid reason for the show. If a performer is unaccountable for that piece, then it gives our entire fraternity a bad name.

As performers, we need to be responsible, and utilise our art, skills and talent to make a difference in the lives of our youth and leaders of tomorrow. Theatre is a place for communication, entertainment and education, if all three of these obligations are honoured, theatre can be a remarkable tool to facilitate change in our world.

“There are no accidents in art – only the fruits of long labour.”
– Stanislavski

Just as the ancient Greeks called drama, dramos, which means life, so should we value the lives which we decide to put on stage. There is only one chance on that stage… as a performer, that one chance is reborn on every stage, and so to be reborn once more, make the most of every chance.

“…an actor is the priest of beauty and truth.”
– Stanislavski

Bibliography

“The Stanislavski System The Professional Training of an Actor” Sonia Moore, Penguin Books, 1984.

 

“Theatre: The Lively Art” Edwin Wilson & Alvin Goldfarb, Library of Congress Cataloging, 1993.

 

“Towards a Poor Theatre” Jerzy Grotowski, Simon & Schuster, 1968.