A dedicated revolutionary activist and propagandist of
the Dravidian movement, Kalaignar’s innovations in the art of scriptwriting earned him a place as a cult-figure in the field of Tamil cinema. Though he has several path-breaking films to his credit, some of them are bound to be remembered as supreme works of art mainly because of the electrifying dialogues penned by him.
What Arignar Anna has said about Ilango Adigal’s Silappatikaram and Kalaignar’s Poompuhar cannot be bettered even by a professional art critic.
No lover of the Tamil classics can resist being inspired by Silappatikaram, one amongst the five fine classics of Tamil literature. Ilango’s magic touch makes every portion of this engrossing epic so true to nature that when one is reading Silappatikaram, one is taken to ancient Tamilagam with all the pagentry alive, Nature’s beauty laid before us, a veritable panorama of events, and a parade of different types – and all pulsating with life – with brilliance all around.
It is most appropriate that Thambi Karunanidhi should give us Silappatikaram in his own inimitable diction and under the caption “Poompuhar” for his command over the Tamil language and his mastery over the art of portrayal, so well-known and so well-appreciated, gives him fit-enough right to render Silappatikaram in the dramatic form – keeping the high standard of diction intact, and at the same time embellish it with certain interpretations of events so as to offer logical explanations to some of the events that appear to us as being inexplicable, nay even unwanted.
In addition to this commendation, Anna appreciatively draws our attention to two of the changes Kalaignar has made bold to introduce in his version of the ancient epic.
The part assigned to the Greek merchant as having been instrumental for the episode that took Kovalan to Madhavi’s mansion offers an appropriate explanation to Kovalan’s action. He did not allow himself to be enticed nor did he seek pleasure and frolic; he had to defend the fair name of Tamilnad and the fairest damsel from falling to the grip of an old man from Greece…
It is well-known that Silappatikaram depicts the chief goldsmith of the palace as the real offender and from that has sprung forth an impression which has affected the very self-respect of an entire community. Though none can charge Ilango with that motive, the consequence of that has been that the entire community was forced to bear odium. This odium Karunanidhi has deftly removed, for as a firm believer in the maintenance of concord between various communities, he wanted to erase the blot. And this is done in Poompuhar in an admirable way. Not the goldsmith but a petty officer of the royal household of Pandyan Nedunchezhian is presented as the real culprit.
Besides praising such deft handling by Kalaignar of two unpleasant episodes in the original, Anna is all admiration for Kalaignar’s treatment of the tragic climax of the Tamil drama.
Karunanidhi rises to great heights while portraying the pathos of Kannagi, when she is confronted with Kovalan beheaded… Kannagi’s pleading, her argument, her admonition as depicted by Karunanidhi is thrilling and is so realistic that we are tempted to join her in her anger, curse, accusation and admonition. The volcano erupts, the sea becomes stormy, the wailing widow becomes the supreme law-giver; king thou art not, Oh pandya! And king thou shalt not be! – roars this Patthini – the whole pent-up fury bursts forth. It is not easy for a writer to depict this faithfully and in fine form. Karunanidhi has succeeded exceedingly well in establishing his claim as a writer of superb style! … Throughout, Karunanidhi has kept up the easy flow, the elegance and the fragrance so essential for a classic.
Though apologetic about the alterations he has made, Kalaignar makes it clear that he has the greatest regard for Ilango Adigal whose vision of life and artistry are laudable and beyond reproach and that the changes only lend strength to the fundamentals enunciated by the author of the epic and are in tune with the spirit of the times. The undying epic transports him to “the world of Tamil literature, of nostalgic antiquity, drenched in nectar perennially sweet” and he would like to read it not as a simple tragic story of Kovalan and Kannagi but as a repository of Tamil culture and as a marvelous history of Tamilagam. Ever vigilant in the cause of Tamil and the Tamils, he wants his fellow-Tamils to go back to the epic for its presentation of the fame of Poompuhar, the might of Maturai and the valour of Vanchi and, in short, the glory and grandeur of the whole Tamil land. It is with this view he makes all the changes beginning with the title itself. He wants them to know how Poompuhar, the birthplace of the major characters of Silappatikaram, as described in Pattinappalai, was a renowned city enjoying trade contacts with far- off countries:
Steeds from the seas and loads of pepper delivered by barges from inland: gems and gold from the northern hills, sandalwood and akhil from the western ghats, pearls brought from the southern sea and coral from the eastern sea; goods from the plains of the Ganga and produce from the banks of the Cauveri itself – a resplendent sight, the scene of active prosperity here.
Deviating from the original, Kalaignar introduces certain occurrences which highlight Kovalan’s abiding love for his wedded wife, Kannagi’s nobility and Madhavi’s generous heart and pure thoughts. He includes his own versions of two western legends one glorifying Sir Walter Raleigh’s chivalry and the other illustrating King Solomon’s wisdom because of their everlasting appeal.
Many of the thirty eight scenes of Poompuhar bear ample testimony to Kalaignar’s architectonic skill. The scene in which Madhavi conquers Kovalan is a marvel of craftsmanship. It is set in Madhavi’s villa grandly decorated for Kovalan’s visit. She dances as she has never danced before, wears herself out and falls down on the marble floor.
Madhavi (ruefully): what is there for me to live for, my Lord?
These last few days I have been clinging to my life, only because I wanted my art to come to fruition before the eyes of one who alone deserves the privilege of witnessing it. Tonight my mission is fulfilled and I shall drift away like a tired leaf. (She closes her eyes and opens them again after a pause. Her eyelids flutter.)
Kovalan (seeking to resuscitate her will to live) : If you do anything hasty, the best in the Art of the Chola kingdom would be extinguished.
Madhavi: My Lord, can Art flower in a heart drained of joy and enthusiasm.
Kovalan: Why not Madhavi? Even the floods of sorrow could energise the waves to rise high in the ocean of Art.
Madhavi: May be, My Lord! But in a land where everyone seeks inner peace and joy, why should Madhavi alone make a cult out of grief and spread it through the medium of melody?
Kovalan: you talk as if some great sorrow has enveloped your life!
Madhavi (alert, with hope kindled): Does it mean that the shadow of grief has been swept away from my life? Tell me, my Lord, tell me; has the kuyil alighted on the branch of my tree, to herald a fresh lease of joy for me?
Madhavi (her voice tapering off): I know why you are withholding your grace. Is it not because you judge me by my clan and suspect that I too am trained in the craft of seduction?
Kovalan (mortified): No, no, dear, you do me an injustice!
Madhavi(in exultation): So my god has relented at last!
The scene in Silappatikatam in which Kannagi presents her case to the Pandya king is a heartrending one. Kalaignar’s repainting of it matches it in its tragic grandeur. Kannagi is presented as the very image of righteous indignation, as a raging fire, as an erupting volcano and as a wild hurricane.
Kannagi: O Pandya king who cites the scripture of justice! what a mockery have you made of justice here, where the law is not to protect the good but to serve the needs of the mighty! That is why you poured the treasure of my life into the abyss of death. O you who go in pomp on a caparisoned elephant and in the shade of an umbrella gorgeous, tell me why a case which ought to have been heard in this court was disposed of in an abandoned hall somewhere in the city. Tell me, Monarch, why the sword of the executioner moved so fast, even without heeding the defence of the accused. Is that to be called justice and righteousness and rule of law and good governance rolled into one? Dare you call yourself a king practising virtue and upholding truth?
Seniormost minister: Are you in a position to prove that one of the anklets worn by the queen now belongs to you?
Kannagi: Is there any use, my proving it? Would you be able to fit the severed head of my husband on to his shoulders again and would you be able to bring him back to life? You cannot, I know.
…
In a fury of vengeance, she hurls the anklet on the floor with all the strength at her command. There is a shower of rubies.
Kannagi: What else have you to say, Pandya, ministers of the council and Elders of this court, what, is there no answer to this from any of you? Your tongues are tied and your heads hang in shame; who dare talk justice now? Pandyan Nedunchezhian’s virtue and power – are they not less than the dust under his chariot wheels now? What a fall, Nedunchezhian? You are an object of derision for the whole of Tamilnad and Thirukkural, the scripture of the Tamil people, points an accusing finger at your awry sceptre! (Her voice takes on a tremor that strikes terror into the hearts of the courtiers) Having lost your honour, do you still need a marbled hall and a terraced palace? What is your title worth now that you cling to your throne? Having held justice to redicule, why does your trembling hand still hold the scepter?
The final episode of Poompuhar is the victorious march of Senguttuvan by whom the northern kings Kanaka and Vijaya are vanquished in a war that does not last long. But this is followed by a touching scene, a grand finale.
The statue of Kannagi has been installed and is being consecrated at a solemn function attended by a vast concourse.
… A wave of respectful silence spreads through the congregation, from the fringes, as a nun enters, leading a child. The nun is Madhavi and the child is her daughter Manimekalai. With a faraway look in her eyes, Madhavi walks up to the statue and deposits her daughter at Kannagi’s feet.
Poompuhar, Paraasakti. Manohara, Rajakumari, Abimanyu, Manthiri Kumari, and Maruthanaattu Ilavarasi constitute Kalaignar’s distinct contribution to dramatic literature in Tamil though they were primarily written for cinematic representations. Ushering in a new era of Tamil movies, they opened up new directions that were consciously and unconsciously followed by succeeding generations of film-makers. As Krishnan has pointed out,
The patron of Tamil cinema, hitherto exposed only to historical and religious themes, found himself a witness to the wickedness of the contemporary society. The indifference of man to the sufferings of his fellowmen, the plight of women, especially widows, the atrocities of priests and godmen committed in the name of God and religion, the selfishnesss and avarice of traders, and black marketeers, the menace of rowdyism – all these shocking realities of the society stared him in the face. He sat up to ponder over these nagging social problems. For the first time, perhaps, a movie moved his heart so much that he could hear the voice of his own conscience. He asked himself, as did the writer, how best he could help in healing the social sickness.
While dealing with the social evils, especially the deep-rooted superstitions that have been eating into the vitals of the Tamil society, Kalaignar’s writings remind us of what Ibsen did to the contemporary European society and what Bernard Shaw did to the contemporary British society. Identifying the quintessence of Ibsenism, Shaw remarked, “Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream may be read even four hundred years after it was written and Ibsen’s plays may be forgotten by the next generation but they would have served their purpose by that time.” It is with this primary aim of edifying the Tamil society that Kalaingar focuses his attention on the ills that have afflicted it. He must have found the task all the more painful and regrettable because as Caldwell himself acknowledges, the Dravidians were once “the least superstitious of human races.”
Paraasakthi, a realistic portrayal of the state of the Tamil society of the 1950’s, of the post-independence Tamilnadu, was a singular success on account of Kalaignar’s story and dialogue. The masterly opening scene introduces indirectly the major characters, delineates the setting and the backdrop and strikes the keynote of the play. In a small wedding hall, on the eve of a betrothal ceremony, the bridegroom addresses the gathering:
It is a pity that the children of this beautiful country instead of lingering on the lap of our motherland, leave her for far-off countries. I am reminded of the woeful words of our wise mentor. What makes the sea water saltish in taste? It is because the poor people of this rich land go to other countries in search of livelihood. The briny tears of these benign souls have mingled with the sea, making it saltish. Take, for instance, my prospective wife Kalyani. Her three elder brothers are in Rangoon right now. She had never seen their faces since they left when they were very young and she was yet a little child. Lakhs and lakhs of men and women with their families sweat it out on the rubber plantations in Malaysia, Africa and Lanka. They should return to our motherland. The song you heard makes a strong plea for it.
Soon after her marriage, Kalyani becomes a widow and an orphan as her husband dies in an accident and her father succumbs to a heart attack. Gunasekaran, who arrives at Madras to attend his sister’s wedding, is cheated by a young prostitute, who takes away all his cash and other possessions leaving him bankrupt. When thousands of refugees from Rangoon are on their way to India, the Japanese planes drop bombs on the human caravan; Chandrasekaran, Saraswathy, and Gnanasekaran sustaining injuries, are admitted in a hospital. Gunasekaran, successfully playing the role of a madman manges to reach Madurai. Though he is able to locate his father’s house, he finds it under lock and key and goes in search of his sister, who has started earning her livelihood by selling idlies. But she is not allowed to lead her life peacefully as she happens to be a young widow feeling insecure and unsafe wherever she goes. Only Chandrasekaran is somewhat successful as he reaches Trichy and becomes Justice M.C.Sekar. Gunasekaran also reaches Trichy and has a strange encounter with a young lady, Vimala, who, impressed with his song and sentiments, falls in love with him. Gnanasekaran, wounded badly in bombardment and losing one of his legs, is refused shelter in a refugee camp and becomes a beggar. Kalyani, driven by hunger and chased by lewd men, decides to commit suicide after throwing her child into a river. She jumps into the river but is rescued by the police and charged with murder and attempted suicide. During the trial, Judge Sekar realizes that Kalyani is his long-lost sister and dropping from his chair, swoons. Gunasekaran comes to know that the priest of the Parasakthi temple attempted to violate his sister’s honour, rushes to the temple and attacks him with a sickle. But because of Vimala’s timely help, the judge taking a lenient view of Gunasekaran’s deeds acquits him with a warning; Kalyani is also acquitted as her child is found to be alive. Finally, Kalyani and all the three brothers are brought together and Vimala and Gunasekaran get united understanding each other’s love. When “Santha Nayagi Orphanage,” a home for beggars and destitutes is inaugurated, all of them break into a song.
The story thus moves through a series of breathtakingly beautiful scenes punctuated by punchy, incisive dialogues. It is the present condition of Tamilnadu and the plight of the Tamil society that haunt Kalaignar’s mind throughout. When Gunasekaran finds himself reduced to the state of a vagabond and a beggar in his own birthplace, he cries out in unbearable agony.
Poverty, theft, cheating, prostitution, where?
In this land of perennial rivers, prosperous green
gardens! O my dear motherland! Why should you
punish me like this! The way you torment destitutes and misfits? O my dear majestic land! When did you turn out to be a spider’s web? O my dear
Tamilnadu, that offers life and prosperity to those
coming to you! Since when did you start exploiting
your own children? O you golden land whose history is replete with the chronicles of valiant women!
When did you close your eyes against prostitutes
professing on your pathways? Mansions touching the sky and men without souls! Tall towers, low minds! O my Tamilnadu, is this our triumph?
Your reputation ? your glory?
When Kalyani is on the stand for the accused, she becomes Kalaignar’s mouthpiece and utters certain home truths about the horrors perpetrated on the Tamil society in the name of religion.
Judge: Don’t argue. You have committed murder, which is a crime. Do you admit it or not?
Kalyani: A crime? If this is a crime, what about Nalla Thangal who threw all her seven children into the well when she was disowned and deserted by the society? Isn’t it a greater crime? The story of Nalla Thangal is enacted on the stage everywhere in Tamilnadu. Why doesn’t your law prevent it or prohibit it? There is the story of a staunch devotee who killed his own son and served the meal to a sanyasi. Why didn’t your law ban such stories of human sacrifice?
Judge: you should have done everything possible to save your child.
Kalyani: My child is not Thirugnana Sambandhar for Parvathi Devi to come down and feed him with mother’s milk. It was my task to appease his hunger. My youth was my enemy. Malicious men tried to molest me. Somehow I escaped from their clutches and now I find myself in the clutches of law as an accused criminal.
At the Paraasakthi temple, the dialogue between the wicked priest and Gunasekaran is full of indignant outbursts of a young man ridiculing the blind beliefs of the common people.
Priest (frightened): Paraasakthi! Paraasakthi!
Gunasekaran: your Paraasakthi is nothing but a stone! If she had spoken, she would have stopped you with her stern, admonishing voice. Crying and trying to cut loose from your cursed clutches, my sister pleaded with your Paraasakthi a thousand times. Did she come to her rescue?
Priest (trying to save himself): Devotees, do something!
Gunasekaran: You beg for human help, you devotee of the Devi? She is sporting a spear in one hand, a swirling sword in the other. What makes you fear death?
Priest: Blasphemy! Blasphemy!
Gunasekaran: Blasphemy! Is it not blasphemy to transform the temple into a fortress of lust? You blasted priest! … In this sinful society, false priests like you should be exposed and executed so that these ignorant people would learn a lesson!
Priest: Why do you come and disturb the festival?
Gunasekaran: Festival! You tried to destroy my sister’s life! This is the festival for you and your Paraasakthi! Festival for the sickle! Festival for blood! For courage, for glory!
When it is Gunasekaran’s turn to be on the stand for the accused eloquently defending his sister’s case, it is Kalignar again who gives vent to his anger at the society crippled by stupidity and dishonesty.
A son of the soil who returns from an alien country has no means to live here. A daughter of the soil finds no security here. If only she had yielded to temptations she would have lived in the mansions of millionaires, comfortably, luxuriously! Does this court want only such things? Frightened by luxury, my sister ran away. Chased by money, my sister ran away. Threatened by devotion, she ran away. She ran and ran to the edge of her dear life! Those who swear by the law today, should have stopped her and offered her a decent life. Did they ever do it? Did they ever let her live? …
Who is responsible for Kalyani’s pathetic plight? Whose crime is it? Fate? Or is it the crime of those who lure poor women with money? Whose crime is it that false priests in the name of God plunge into rituals of lust and sex? God? Or is it the crime of man? If such crimes are not weeded out, more and more Gunasekarans and Kalyanis will appear. This is the lesson, logic, political philosophy you will find on the pages of our life history.
In play after play, Kalaignar brings to light what harm man has done to man and where the remedy is to be found.
Manokara of the 1920s, the original play written by the legendary dramaturge, Pammal Sambanda Mudaliar, enthralled the Tamil spectators for seventy years and became Tamilnadu’s longest nun. It had been written under the influence of the revenge tragedies of Kyd, Webster and Shakespeare. A plain revenge play by a professional playwright underwent a splendid adaptation in the hands of Kalaingar, a seasoned creative artist. As attested by Prof.Ganapathy, “it is done with such adroit departure from the original and in such finesse that it reads like a newly written play – a mosaic of many designs.” Kalaignar cannot but leave the stamp of his artistic personality on every aspect of the play – plot, characterization, setting, and dialogue. The old play, as presented by Sambanda Mudaliar keeping the audience of his time in mind, was nothing more than a repertoire of conventional dramatic devices ensuring suspense, swift action, melodramatic scenes, memorable visualizations, and tear-jerking sentiments. But Kalaignar’s artistry, ‘like the richest alchemy,’ transmutes it into a first-rate modern play.
The story of the play is succinctly summarized by Prof.Ganapathy.
Taking leave of his mother Padmavathy, and wife Vijaya, the Protagonist Manokaran sets out to invade the Pandiya country, on the auspicious hour chosen by the family priest. Vasanthasena, who holds sway over his father, believes that if she told Padmavathy that Manokaran died in the battlefield, Padmavathy would die, and that she would herself be able to become the queen. Accordingly, she arranges with one Bouddhayanan to do the deed. When Bouddhayanan tells Padmavathy that Manokaran is dead, Manokaran appears there. Bouddhayanan is pardoned. Mother Padmavathy restrains Manokaran who is angered by the plot of Vasanthasena. The king decides to make Manokaran the prince. The royal priest enters the ceremonial hall, to find Vasanthasena seated by the king. He is angered. Manokaran too is extremely angry. But, owing to the promise given to his mother, he is mollified. At the spring festival, Vasanthasena calls Manokaran a harlot’s son. Because of this, the king too is angry with Vasanthasena. On learning about this incident at the spring Festival, Padmavathy writes to Sathyaseelan, a minister. Changing the letter, Vasanthasena creates confusion in the mind of the king. Suspecting Padmavathy, he orders Sathyaseelan himself to kill Manoharan. Sathyaseelan is distressed. To find out the reason, Manoharan is brought enchained. Because of the arguments that ensue at the hall, Manokaran attempts to kill his father. Padmavathy leaps forward and prevents him. Manokaran is sentenced to death and is taken to the place of execution to be killed.
The king, contemplating on the good nature of his wife, who stopped the son, and saved his life, changes his mind. Just when Manokaran and Sathyaseelan are about to cut and kill each other, the king hastens in the guise of a spy, shows the royal signet, announces that the king has rescinded his command, and saving them, he makes his departure. Manokaran, Sathyaseelan and friend Rajapriyan are in disguise, without going to the city. Manoharan is also reluctant to return to the city. The king receives proper explanation from Padmavathy, for the false impression the letter has created. Both are happy. As the king comes to know of the plot by which Vasanthasena had changed the letter, and imputed a blot on Padmavathy, she plans to kill the king himself.
The spectre of her dead husband, Kesarivarman, killed by her, who often came to threaten her, appears again to frighten her. That night, Vasanthasena’s mad son, Vasanthan, comes there, dressed in regal attire. Taking him for the king, she kills him. In grief that she has killed her own son, Vasanthasena commits suicide. In such a situation, a war becomes inevitable against the Pandiya country. When king Purushothoman is on the point of defeat, Monokaran intervenes incognito and brings victory to the Chola country. King Purushothaman comes to know of the true nature of Manokaran. The king’s family is united and there is joy all around.
Kalaignar sees to it that the major and minor characters are distinct in nature and that their speeches are always in character. Kesarivarman, the unfortunate husband of Vasanthasena, has been killed by her before the play begins and makes his appearance in the opening scene as an invisible being contributing to the horror element of the play. Reminding us of Hamlet’s father who appears as a ghost and urges his son to take revenge upon his wife, Kesarivarman in this play, takes upon himself the dreadful task of killing his unfaithful wife. Standing before the statue he has chiselled, he says,
Vasanthasena! I will drive a spear into your eyes… set fire to your hair … I will drive sharp needles into your hair… I will drive sharp needles into your red lips … Shining cheeks! Ha, ha,ha … I will split them with a dagger. The body that twins on the onlookers - I will cut it into pieces. The miraculous work of the formless has begun … Treacherous woman! Your former husband’s task on revenge has begun. A walking serpent! Hell’s dancer! Devil of deceit … smiling spider …
Vasanthasena, a resourceful, unscrupulous, overambitious adulteress, reveals herself in her very first appearance.
The queen and the prince are both living corpses. My very smile will fetch me the throne – A captivating look – the whole world will be at my feet! The beloved queen of the king am I! Just a thought will do – Vasanthasena is queen! Her son, Vasanthan, the prince!
Queen Padmavathy is pictured as an ideal Tamil woman known for her virtues of chastity, nobility, patience, love and familial affection. She is first seen praying before the king’s portrait.
Lord! Won’t the day come to unite us together …? I have not done any harm to anyone in my life! I have even pardoned Vasanthasena who has ruined my life, because you, who love her so much, should not feel sad…! Even if I have done any harm to anyone, I do suffer having parted from you for many years! Won’t this punishment do? Lord! The birthday of dear Manokaran is nearing. Let us both embrace our dear son, and offer him our loving wishes. Lord! The dear day, won’t it ever come again!
A brief scene presenting King Purushothaman and Vasanthasena brings to light the tragic flaw in the king’s character, his blind infatuation for her. Though a mighty ruler, he betrays acquiescent obedience and she easily has her ways by capitalizing his weakness.
Vasanthasena: Tomorrow, a triumphant welcome to Manokaran. At that time I have to sit like a widow in a corner.
King (embarrassed): Vasanthi! Don’t talk like this. You can come to the hall, enjoying all the honours.
Vasanthasena: Can I? I am reluctant. I pity you! What can you do? Courtiers won’t allow me. Though you may be an emperor, you are to fear the lay citizens.
King: No, you can come.
Vasanthasena: I may come, but whatever I am, Can I, this unfortunate woman, who has always been thinking intently of your love, sit by you on the ruby throne brought from the enemy land? Am I such a lucky one?
King: Why by my side? If I am powerful like Lord Siva, I may even keep you on top of my head, like the Ganga!
Vasanthasena: If that is so, then, tomorrow at the royal court!
The final scene in which the mother and the son, Padmavathy and Manoharan, rise to great heights, will be etched in anyone’s mind.
Manokaran: … At least, after seeing the injustice done by a jackal who is thirsting to mount the throne, won’t you grant me permission? A sword is not required, mother! A word by mouth will do. No forces are required mother! Mother’s objection alone should go! No weapons are required, mother – just a signal of the eye is enough. For you, me and all of us, there will be liberty.Mother, where is the command? Please permit me. I shall finish them.
Padmavathy: … Mother Earth, bearing this depraved woman who thirsts to wreak vengeance upon this tender child, upon the prince royal, upon the king who rules the world, and all the rest! If it is true that you are grateful, and if it is true that mothers from valiant dynasties have power, if it is true that the dauntless Monokaran who never bent before enemies is my son, let this chain break into pieces! Let the laughter of the unjust be silenced! Let this hall crumble into pieces! Crumble into pieces!
Encouraged by his mother’s command, Manokaran topples the pillar; Vasanthi is dragged by the invisible being to the cave; the king is released.
Vasanthan’s innocent statement on the eve of his death will be ringing in the ears of the audience even after they leave the theatre.
Vasanthan: Brother! I can feel if the dagger thrown by this sinner had hit you, how much pain you would have suffered. You should live, brother! Brother! you alone should rule the country. I should die.
There is an exquisite group of one-act plays by Kalaignar mainly written for films emulating the example of the device of a play within a play successfully used by Elizabethan playwrights. It was handled almost as a subgenre by him in order to expatiate on socially relevant issues and to preach Dravidian ideals such as the need to improve the lot of the poor, the urgency to wipe out the caste hierarchy, the value of women’s education and the importance of exposing superstitious beliefs.
The legend about the love between Saleem, son of Emperor Akbar and Anarkali, a dancing girl has become a theme of perennial interest and every artist worth the name would like to sing the glory of the archetypal pair of lovers in a poem or a short story or a novel. Kalaignar treats it in a play consisting of four memorable scenes. The encounter between Raja Mann Singh and Anarkali reveals the intensity of her love for Saleem as well as her shrewdness and selfless courage.
Raja: Look here, Anarkali, I’ll give you one lakh gold coins. Take that and get away from here to some place. Let the prince forget you!
Anar: If I loved him for gold I’d go now! Why talk of lakhs, there are a number of rich men ready to pour money in crores at my feet. Be it they or you - or the gold you offer me – All these are like sand to me- all these equal sand.
Raja: … young woman! Were I in your place I would certainly choose to forget Saleem!
Anar: Your would forget – because – you are not Anarkali!
Raja: All right! What do you say as your final decision!
Anar: You have no right to intercept my opinions!
Raja: What?
Anar: Anar’s liberty to love will not yield to Delhi imperialism!
Raja: Let me see its ending too.
Saleem and Anarkali are arrested and it is decreed that she be entombed alive. Saleem rushes to save his lady love but before he can reach the place, the tomb is sealed.
Saleem: … Sinners! You have murdered Anarkali! You have put out the flame of my heart! Broken the divine Veena! Buried the deathless heroine of the epic of love in a heap of stones! Hidden her eternal beauty! But, you silly fools, none of you have the courage to pluck her from Saleem’s heart! None has the skill! ...
What though I have all these? What of all these joys? To me who have no right to claim my love who has filled my heart? To me who have not the liberty to live with the one I loved? What if I had all these or not? Why this palace? Why this luxury? Why this royal life? Why a thousand to run errands at my command? Why all these?
Akbar’s son should not fall in love with a dancing girl! Oh tomb that encloses my most beautiful love, tell me! You have devoured her because she did not have royal status. Akbar Badsha, a muslim can marry a Rajput woman Jyothi Bai. But the son of that Rajput woman should not love a dancing girl! Oh, tomb that has swallowed my love, tell me! Is the judgment proper! You won’t answer! You know only to devour life! Come on, do it now. You are used to doing it.
This jewel of a playlet is a worthy contribution of a Tamil to the ever-growing literature centring round Anarkali and Saleem.
A play consisting of five scenes with the immortal Socrates as its protagonist is one of the most magnificent tributes paid to the formidable philosopher from Greece. The Tamils have always had great admiration for this foremost rationalist and would cherish the belief that there is a reference to him in the Kural that says that the most cultured would rest content with drinking poison even when it is poured right in their presence. Plato’s account of the last days of Socrates’ life warrants such an inference. Stone, an American scholar, has a well-researched article on what happened on the day on which Socrates courted death by drinking poison. The Dravidian Movement with Periyar as its mentor takes delight in portraying a symbol of rationalism. Kalignar has carefully gone through all the available material on Socrates and presents the distilled essence in five short scenes.
In one typical scene, Socrates is seen addressing a gathering at the market place:
Oh dear people who come to the market to buy things! I have something special for you which you cannot find anywhere in the market! An invaluable diamond! A brilliant pearl that is got by diving into the deep ocean called research! A thing that is not sold in the shops! Wisdom! Wisdom! Come here dear men to buy this sweet product!
At an Athenian Court of law, when several charges are leveled against him, he responds with incredible equanimity.
Anitas: This is how he corrupts all young men!
Socrates: How can an old man spoil young men? Am I a prostitute who casts her net to catch young men? A damsel to feast their eyes?
Meletus: You have an enchanting language which sluts do not have. Use of enthralling words which the whores do not have… Verbal tricks… endearing phrases… You have mastered such strategies …..
Socrates: You may call me a wizard! ... Dear loving young man! Do I corrupt young men? Or do they come to me on their own and get spoilt?
Meletus: You voluntarily accost them and corrupt them! At the market places, at junctions of streets, on pavements, in midstreets, in shades, in shades of trees where some four men would gather to rest… there is not a time when you do not harangue!
When it is announced that Socrates is condemned to death, he continues to be calm and reacts without any perturbation of mind.
The court of law of the city state of Athens has a silent smile on reading out the proud decree! I am proud to be the first in history to receive this Judgement from the Athenian court! They have rewarded me with death for having instructed them to hold up the lamp of intelligence in their hands!
It is when Socrates is asked to give his final piece of advice that he makes a heart-rending appeal.
What new thing am I going to say? Gnothi seauton … know yourself! Question everything as what, why and how? This is how a carver in stone became a carver of thought, a thinker. Never lose your sense by accepting anything as authority as this man said, or that man said - whatever any man says, try to assess their words in your own way using your rationality. That is the message I want to leave with you and the world at large… If you are going to bury me, bury along with me all the superstitious myths and falsehood that abound in the world! If you are going to burn me, burn all the bundles of books written by false philosophers and dissolve in water even the ashes of them! Farewell! My dear Athens, farewell! The broad and beautiful streets of Athens which helped me to run round in joy and deliver my emotional outbursts, Farewell! Shades of trees along the streets! Platforms in the front of the houses! This aged man takes leave of all of you! Proud young men that walk upright! Young brothers and protectors of our nation! Dearest friends! Old men and mothers! May the last tender respects Socrates tenders all be yours! If there be any who truly and whole heartedly still believes and contends that this old man corrupted the Greek youth let them forgive me! Let them forgive me! Let me go. Bye! Fail not to think! Eh, world! Fail not to think! Know yourself! Know yourself!
Kalaignar has composed a prose-poem worthy of one of the wisest of human beings that have ever walked on earth.
the Dravidian movement, Kalaignar’s innovations in the art of scriptwriting earned him a place as a cult-figure in the field of Tamil cinema. Though he has several path-breaking films to his credit, some of them are bound to be remembered as supreme works of art mainly because of the electrifying dialogues penned by him.
What Arignar Anna has said about Ilango Adigal’s Silappatikaram and Kalaignar’s Poompuhar cannot be bettered even by a professional art critic.
No lover of the Tamil classics can resist being inspired by Silappatikaram, one amongst the five fine classics of Tamil literature. Ilango’s magic touch makes every portion of this engrossing epic so true to nature that when one is reading Silappatikaram, one is taken to ancient Tamilagam with all the pagentry alive, Nature’s beauty laid before us, a veritable panorama of events, and a parade of different types – and all pulsating with life – with brilliance all around.
It is most appropriate that Thambi Karunanidhi should give us Silappatikaram in his own inimitable diction and under the caption “Poompuhar” for his command over the Tamil language and his mastery over the art of portrayal, so well-known and so well-appreciated, gives him fit-enough right to render Silappatikaram in the dramatic form – keeping the high standard of diction intact, and at the same time embellish it with certain interpretations of events so as to offer logical explanations to some of the events that appear to us as being inexplicable, nay even unwanted.
In addition to this commendation, Anna appreciatively draws our attention to two of the changes Kalaignar has made bold to introduce in his version of the ancient epic.
The part assigned to the Greek merchant as having been instrumental for the episode that took Kovalan to Madhavi’s mansion offers an appropriate explanation to Kovalan’s action. He did not allow himself to be enticed nor did he seek pleasure and frolic; he had to defend the fair name of Tamilnad and the fairest damsel from falling to the grip of an old man from Greece…
It is well-known that Silappatikaram depicts the chief goldsmith of the palace as the real offender and from that has sprung forth an impression which has affected the very self-respect of an entire community. Though none can charge Ilango with that motive, the consequence of that has been that the entire community was forced to bear odium. This odium Karunanidhi has deftly removed, for as a firm believer in the maintenance of concord between various communities, he wanted to erase the blot. And this is done in Poompuhar in an admirable way. Not the goldsmith but a petty officer of the royal household of Pandyan Nedunchezhian is presented as the real culprit.
Besides praising such deft handling by Kalaignar of two unpleasant episodes in the original, Anna is all admiration for Kalaignar’s treatment of the tragic climax of the Tamil drama.
Karunanidhi rises to great heights while portraying the pathos of Kannagi, when she is confronted with Kovalan beheaded… Kannagi’s pleading, her argument, her admonition as depicted by Karunanidhi is thrilling and is so realistic that we are tempted to join her in her anger, curse, accusation and admonition. The volcano erupts, the sea becomes stormy, the wailing widow becomes the supreme law-giver; king thou art not, Oh pandya! And king thou shalt not be! – roars this Patthini – the whole pent-up fury bursts forth. It is not easy for a writer to depict this faithfully and in fine form. Karunanidhi has succeeded exceedingly well in establishing his claim as a writer of superb style! … Throughout, Karunanidhi has kept up the easy flow, the elegance and the fragrance so essential for a classic.
Though apologetic about the alterations he has made, Kalaignar makes it clear that he has the greatest regard for Ilango Adigal whose vision of life and artistry are laudable and beyond reproach and that the changes only lend strength to the fundamentals enunciated by the author of the epic and are in tune with the spirit of the times. The undying epic transports him to “the world of Tamil literature, of nostalgic antiquity, drenched in nectar perennially sweet” and he would like to read it not as a simple tragic story of Kovalan and Kannagi but as a repository of Tamil culture and as a marvelous history of Tamilagam. Ever vigilant in the cause of Tamil and the Tamils, he wants his fellow-Tamils to go back to the epic for its presentation of the fame of Poompuhar, the might of Maturai and the valour of Vanchi and, in short, the glory and grandeur of the whole Tamil land. It is with this view he makes all the changes beginning with the title itself. He wants them to know how Poompuhar, the birthplace of the major characters of Silappatikaram, as described in Pattinappalai, was a renowned city enjoying trade contacts with far- off countries:
Steeds from the seas and loads of pepper delivered by barges from inland: gems and gold from the northern hills, sandalwood and akhil from the western ghats, pearls brought from the southern sea and coral from the eastern sea; goods from the plains of the Ganga and produce from the banks of the Cauveri itself – a resplendent sight, the scene of active prosperity here.
Deviating from the original, Kalaignar introduces certain occurrences which highlight Kovalan’s abiding love for his wedded wife, Kannagi’s nobility and Madhavi’s generous heart and pure thoughts. He includes his own versions of two western legends one glorifying Sir Walter Raleigh’s chivalry and the other illustrating King Solomon’s wisdom because of their everlasting appeal.
Many of the thirty eight scenes of Poompuhar bear ample testimony to Kalaignar’s architectonic skill. The scene in which Madhavi conquers Kovalan is a marvel of craftsmanship. It is set in Madhavi’s villa grandly decorated for Kovalan’s visit. She dances as she has never danced before, wears herself out and falls down on the marble floor.
Madhavi (ruefully): what is there for me to live for, my Lord?
These last few days I have been clinging to my life, only because I wanted my art to come to fruition before the eyes of one who alone deserves the privilege of witnessing it. Tonight my mission is fulfilled and I shall drift away like a tired leaf. (She closes her eyes and opens them again after a pause. Her eyelids flutter.)
Kovalan (seeking to resuscitate her will to live) : If you do anything hasty, the best in the Art of the Chola kingdom would be extinguished.
Madhavi: My Lord, can Art flower in a heart drained of joy and enthusiasm.
Kovalan: Why not Madhavi? Even the floods of sorrow could energise the waves to rise high in the ocean of Art.
Madhavi: May be, My Lord! But in a land where everyone seeks inner peace and joy, why should Madhavi alone make a cult out of grief and spread it through the medium of melody?
Kovalan: you talk as if some great sorrow has enveloped your life!
Madhavi (alert, with hope kindled): Does it mean that the shadow of grief has been swept away from my life? Tell me, my Lord, tell me; has the kuyil alighted on the branch of my tree, to herald a fresh lease of joy for me?
Madhavi (her voice tapering off): I know why you are withholding your grace. Is it not because you judge me by my clan and suspect that I too am trained in the craft of seduction?
Kovalan (mortified): No, no, dear, you do me an injustice!
Madhavi(in exultation): So my god has relented at last!
The scene in Silappatikatam in which Kannagi presents her case to the Pandya king is a heartrending one. Kalaignar’s repainting of it matches it in its tragic grandeur. Kannagi is presented as the very image of righteous indignation, as a raging fire, as an erupting volcano and as a wild hurricane.
Kannagi: O Pandya king who cites the scripture of justice! what a mockery have you made of justice here, where the law is not to protect the good but to serve the needs of the mighty! That is why you poured the treasure of my life into the abyss of death. O you who go in pomp on a caparisoned elephant and in the shade of an umbrella gorgeous, tell me why a case which ought to have been heard in this court was disposed of in an abandoned hall somewhere in the city. Tell me, Monarch, why the sword of the executioner moved so fast, even without heeding the defence of the accused. Is that to be called justice and righteousness and rule of law and good governance rolled into one? Dare you call yourself a king practising virtue and upholding truth?
Seniormost minister: Are you in a position to prove that one of the anklets worn by the queen now belongs to you?
Kannagi: Is there any use, my proving it? Would you be able to fit the severed head of my husband on to his shoulders again and would you be able to bring him back to life? You cannot, I know.
…
In a fury of vengeance, she hurls the anklet on the floor with all the strength at her command. There is a shower of rubies.
Kannagi: What else have you to say, Pandya, ministers of the council and Elders of this court, what, is there no answer to this from any of you? Your tongues are tied and your heads hang in shame; who dare talk justice now? Pandyan Nedunchezhian’s virtue and power – are they not less than the dust under his chariot wheels now? What a fall, Nedunchezhian? You are an object of derision for the whole of Tamilnad and Thirukkural, the scripture of the Tamil people, points an accusing finger at your awry sceptre! (Her voice takes on a tremor that strikes terror into the hearts of the courtiers) Having lost your honour, do you still need a marbled hall and a terraced palace? What is your title worth now that you cling to your throne? Having held justice to redicule, why does your trembling hand still hold the scepter?
The final episode of Poompuhar is the victorious march of Senguttuvan by whom the northern kings Kanaka and Vijaya are vanquished in a war that does not last long. But this is followed by a touching scene, a grand finale.
The statue of Kannagi has been installed and is being consecrated at a solemn function attended by a vast concourse.
… A wave of respectful silence spreads through the congregation, from the fringes, as a nun enters, leading a child. The nun is Madhavi and the child is her daughter Manimekalai. With a faraway look in her eyes, Madhavi walks up to the statue and deposits her daughter at Kannagi’s feet.
Poompuhar, Paraasakti. Manohara, Rajakumari, Abimanyu, Manthiri Kumari, and Maruthanaattu Ilavarasi constitute Kalaignar’s distinct contribution to dramatic literature in Tamil though they were primarily written for cinematic representations. Ushering in a new era of Tamil movies, they opened up new directions that were consciously and unconsciously followed by succeeding generations of film-makers. As Krishnan has pointed out,
The patron of Tamil cinema, hitherto exposed only to historical and religious themes, found himself a witness to the wickedness of the contemporary society. The indifference of man to the sufferings of his fellowmen, the plight of women, especially widows, the atrocities of priests and godmen committed in the name of God and religion, the selfishnesss and avarice of traders, and black marketeers, the menace of rowdyism – all these shocking realities of the society stared him in the face. He sat up to ponder over these nagging social problems. For the first time, perhaps, a movie moved his heart so much that he could hear the voice of his own conscience. He asked himself, as did the writer, how best he could help in healing the social sickness.
While dealing with the social evils, especially the deep-rooted superstitions that have been eating into the vitals of the Tamil society, Kalaignar’s writings remind us of what Ibsen did to the contemporary European society and what Bernard Shaw did to the contemporary British society. Identifying the quintessence of Ibsenism, Shaw remarked, “Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream may be read even four hundred years after it was written and Ibsen’s plays may be forgotten by the next generation but they would have served their purpose by that time.” It is with this primary aim of edifying the Tamil society that Kalaingar focuses his attention on the ills that have afflicted it. He must have found the task all the more painful and regrettable because as Caldwell himself acknowledges, the Dravidians were once “the least superstitious of human races.”
Paraasakthi, a realistic portrayal of the state of the Tamil society of the 1950’s, of the post-independence Tamilnadu, was a singular success on account of Kalaignar’s story and dialogue. The masterly opening scene introduces indirectly the major characters, delineates the setting and the backdrop and strikes the keynote of the play. In a small wedding hall, on the eve of a betrothal ceremony, the bridegroom addresses the gathering:
It is a pity that the children of this beautiful country instead of lingering on the lap of our motherland, leave her for far-off countries. I am reminded of the woeful words of our wise mentor. What makes the sea water saltish in taste? It is because the poor people of this rich land go to other countries in search of livelihood. The briny tears of these benign souls have mingled with the sea, making it saltish. Take, for instance, my prospective wife Kalyani. Her three elder brothers are in Rangoon right now. She had never seen their faces since they left when they were very young and she was yet a little child. Lakhs and lakhs of men and women with their families sweat it out on the rubber plantations in Malaysia, Africa and Lanka. They should return to our motherland. The song you heard makes a strong plea for it.
Soon after her marriage, Kalyani becomes a widow and an orphan as her husband dies in an accident and her father succumbs to a heart attack. Gunasekaran, who arrives at Madras to attend his sister’s wedding, is cheated by a young prostitute, who takes away all his cash and other possessions leaving him bankrupt. When thousands of refugees from Rangoon are on their way to India, the Japanese planes drop bombs on the human caravan; Chandrasekaran, Saraswathy, and Gnanasekaran sustaining injuries, are admitted in a hospital. Gunasekaran, successfully playing the role of a madman manges to reach Madurai. Though he is able to locate his father’s house, he finds it under lock and key and goes in search of his sister, who has started earning her livelihood by selling idlies. But she is not allowed to lead her life peacefully as she happens to be a young widow feeling insecure and unsafe wherever she goes. Only Chandrasekaran is somewhat successful as he reaches Trichy and becomes Justice M.C.Sekar. Gunasekaran also reaches Trichy and has a strange encounter with a young lady, Vimala, who, impressed with his song and sentiments, falls in love with him. Gnanasekaran, wounded badly in bombardment and losing one of his legs, is refused shelter in a refugee camp and becomes a beggar. Kalyani, driven by hunger and chased by lewd men, decides to commit suicide after throwing her child into a river. She jumps into the river but is rescued by the police and charged with murder and attempted suicide. During the trial, Judge Sekar realizes that Kalyani is his long-lost sister and dropping from his chair, swoons. Gunasekaran comes to know that the priest of the Parasakthi temple attempted to violate his sister’s honour, rushes to the temple and attacks him with a sickle. But because of Vimala’s timely help, the judge taking a lenient view of Gunasekaran’s deeds acquits him with a warning; Kalyani is also acquitted as her child is found to be alive. Finally, Kalyani and all the three brothers are brought together and Vimala and Gunasekaran get united understanding each other’s love. When “Santha Nayagi Orphanage,” a home for beggars and destitutes is inaugurated, all of them break into a song.
The story thus moves through a series of breathtakingly beautiful scenes punctuated by punchy, incisive dialogues. It is the present condition of Tamilnadu and the plight of the Tamil society that haunt Kalaignar’s mind throughout. When Gunasekaran finds himself reduced to the state of a vagabond and a beggar in his own birthplace, he cries out in unbearable agony.
Poverty, theft, cheating, prostitution, where?
In this land of perennial rivers, prosperous green
gardens! O my dear motherland! Why should you
punish me like this! The way you torment destitutes and misfits? O my dear majestic land! When did you turn out to be a spider’s web? O my dear
Tamilnadu, that offers life and prosperity to those
coming to you! Since when did you start exploiting
your own children? O you golden land whose history is replete with the chronicles of valiant women!
When did you close your eyes against prostitutes
professing on your pathways? Mansions touching the sky and men without souls! Tall towers, low minds! O my Tamilnadu, is this our triumph?
Your reputation ? your glory?
When Kalyani is on the stand for the accused, she becomes Kalaignar’s mouthpiece and utters certain home truths about the horrors perpetrated on the Tamil society in the name of religion.
Judge: Don’t argue. You have committed murder, which is a crime. Do you admit it or not?
Kalyani: A crime? If this is a crime, what about Nalla Thangal who threw all her seven children into the well when she was disowned and deserted by the society? Isn’t it a greater crime? The story of Nalla Thangal is enacted on the stage everywhere in Tamilnadu. Why doesn’t your law prevent it or prohibit it? There is the story of a staunch devotee who killed his own son and served the meal to a sanyasi. Why didn’t your law ban such stories of human sacrifice?
Judge: you should have done everything possible to save your child.
Kalyani: My child is not Thirugnana Sambandhar for Parvathi Devi to come down and feed him with mother’s milk. It was my task to appease his hunger. My youth was my enemy. Malicious men tried to molest me. Somehow I escaped from their clutches and now I find myself in the clutches of law as an accused criminal.
At the Paraasakthi temple, the dialogue between the wicked priest and Gunasekaran is full of indignant outbursts of a young man ridiculing the blind beliefs of the common people.
Priest (frightened): Paraasakthi! Paraasakthi!
Gunasekaran: your Paraasakthi is nothing but a stone! If she had spoken, she would have stopped you with her stern, admonishing voice. Crying and trying to cut loose from your cursed clutches, my sister pleaded with your Paraasakthi a thousand times. Did she come to her rescue?
Priest (trying to save himself): Devotees, do something!
Gunasekaran: You beg for human help, you devotee of the Devi? She is sporting a spear in one hand, a swirling sword in the other. What makes you fear death?
Priest: Blasphemy! Blasphemy!
Gunasekaran: Blasphemy! Is it not blasphemy to transform the temple into a fortress of lust? You blasted priest! … In this sinful society, false priests like you should be exposed and executed so that these ignorant people would learn a lesson!
Priest: Why do you come and disturb the festival?
Gunasekaran: Festival! You tried to destroy my sister’s life! This is the festival for you and your Paraasakthi! Festival for the sickle! Festival for blood! For courage, for glory!
When it is Gunasekaran’s turn to be on the stand for the accused eloquently defending his sister’s case, it is Kalignar again who gives vent to his anger at the society crippled by stupidity and dishonesty.
A son of the soil who returns from an alien country has no means to live here. A daughter of the soil finds no security here. If only she had yielded to temptations she would have lived in the mansions of millionaires, comfortably, luxuriously! Does this court want only such things? Frightened by luxury, my sister ran away. Chased by money, my sister ran away. Threatened by devotion, she ran away. She ran and ran to the edge of her dear life! Those who swear by the law today, should have stopped her and offered her a decent life. Did they ever do it? Did they ever let her live? …
Who is responsible for Kalyani’s pathetic plight? Whose crime is it? Fate? Or is it the crime of those who lure poor women with money? Whose crime is it that false priests in the name of God plunge into rituals of lust and sex? God? Or is it the crime of man? If such crimes are not weeded out, more and more Gunasekarans and Kalyanis will appear. This is the lesson, logic, political philosophy you will find on the pages of our life history.
In play after play, Kalaignar brings to light what harm man has done to man and where the remedy is to be found.
Manokara of the 1920s, the original play written by the legendary dramaturge, Pammal Sambanda Mudaliar, enthralled the Tamil spectators for seventy years and became Tamilnadu’s longest nun. It had been written under the influence of the revenge tragedies of Kyd, Webster and Shakespeare. A plain revenge play by a professional playwright underwent a splendid adaptation in the hands of Kalaingar, a seasoned creative artist. As attested by Prof.Ganapathy, “it is done with such adroit departure from the original and in such finesse that it reads like a newly written play – a mosaic of many designs.” Kalaignar cannot but leave the stamp of his artistic personality on every aspect of the play – plot, characterization, setting, and dialogue. The old play, as presented by Sambanda Mudaliar keeping the audience of his time in mind, was nothing more than a repertoire of conventional dramatic devices ensuring suspense, swift action, melodramatic scenes, memorable visualizations, and tear-jerking sentiments. But Kalaignar’s artistry, ‘like the richest alchemy,’ transmutes it into a first-rate modern play.
The story of the play is succinctly summarized by Prof.Ganapathy.
Taking leave of his mother Padmavathy, and wife Vijaya, the Protagonist Manokaran sets out to invade the Pandiya country, on the auspicious hour chosen by the family priest. Vasanthasena, who holds sway over his father, believes that if she told Padmavathy that Manokaran died in the battlefield, Padmavathy would die, and that she would herself be able to become the queen. Accordingly, she arranges with one Bouddhayanan to do the deed. When Bouddhayanan tells Padmavathy that Manokaran is dead, Manokaran appears there. Bouddhayanan is pardoned. Mother Padmavathy restrains Manokaran who is angered by the plot of Vasanthasena. The king decides to make Manokaran the prince. The royal priest enters the ceremonial hall, to find Vasanthasena seated by the king. He is angered. Manokaran too is extremely angry. But, owing to the promise given to his mother, he is mollified. At the spring festival, Vasanthasena calls Manokaran a harlot’s son. Because of this, the king too is angry with Vasanthasena. On learning about this incident at the spring Festival, Padmavathy writes to Sathyaseelan, a minister. Changing the letter, Vasanthasena creates confusion in the mind of the king. Suspecting Padmavathy, he orders Sathyaseelan himself to kill Manoharan. Sathyaseelan is distressed. To find out the reason, Manoharan is brought enchained. Because of the arguments that ensue at the hall, Manokaran attempts to kill his father. Padmavathy leaps forward and prevents him. Manokaran is sentenced to death and is taken to the place of execution to be killed.
The king, contemplating on the good nature of his wife, who stopped the son, and saved his life, changes his mind. Just when Manokaran and Sathyaseelan are about to cut and kill each other, the king hastens in the guise of a spy, shows the royal signet, announces that the king has rescinded his command, and saving them, he makes his departure. Manokaran, Sathyaseelan and friend Rajapriyan are in disguise, without going to the city. Manoharan is also reluctant to return to the city. The king receives proper explanation from Padmavathy, for the false impression the letter has created. Both are happy. As the king comes to know of the plot by which Vasanthasena had changed the letter, and imputed a blot on Padmavathy, she plans to kill the king himself.
The spectre of her dead husband, Kesarivarman, killed by her, who often came to threaten her, appears again to frighten her. That night, Vasanthasena’s mad son, Vasanthan, comes there, dressed in regal attire. Taking him for the king, she kills him. In grief that she has killed her own son, Vasanthasena commits suicide. In such a situation, a war becomes inevitable against the Pandiya country. When king Purushothoman is on the point of defeat, Monokaran intervenes incognito and brings victory to the Chola country. King Purushothaman comes to know of the true nature of Manokaran. The king’s family is united and there is joy all around.
Kalaignar sees to it that the major and minor characters are distinct in nature and that their speeches are always in character. Kesarivarman, the unfortunate husband of Vasanthasena, has been killed by her before the play begins and makes his appearance in the opening scene as an invisible being contributing to the horror element of the play. Reminding us of Hamlet’s father who appears as a ghost and urges his son to take revenge upon his wife, Kesarivarman in this play, takes upon himself the dreadful task of killing his unfaithful wife. Standing before the statue he has chiselled, he says,
Vasanthasena! I will drive a spear into your eyes… set fire to your hair … I will drive sharp needles into your hair… I will drive sharp needles into your red lips … Shining cheeks! Ha, ha,ha … I will split them with a dagger. The body that twins on the onlookers - I will cut it into pieces. The miraculous work of the formless has begun … Treacherous woman! Your former husband’s task on revenge has begun. A walking serpent! Hell’s dancer! Devil of deceit … smiling spider …
Vasanthasena, a resourceful, unscrupulous, overambitious adulteress, reveals herself in her very first appearance.
The queen and the prince are both living corpses. My very smile will fetch me the throne – A captivating look – the whole world will be at my feet! The beloved queen of the king am I! Just a thought will do – Vasanthasena is queen! Her son, Vasanthan, the prince!
Queen Padmavathy is pictured as an ideal Tamil woman known for her virtues of chastity, nobility, patience, love and familial affection. She is first seen praying before the king’s portrait.
Lord! Won’t the day come to unite us together …? I have not done any harm to anyone in my life! I have even pardoned Vasanthasena who has ruined my life, because you, who love her so much, should not feel sad…! Even if I have done any harm to anyone, I do suffer having parted from you for many years! Won’t this punishment do? Lord! The birthday of dear Manokaran is nearing. Let us both embrace our dear son, and offer him our loving wishes. Lord! The dear day, won’t it ever come again!
A brief scene presenting King Purushothaman and Vasanthasena brings to light the tragic flaw in the king’s character, his blind infatuation for her. Though a mighty ruler, he betrays acquiescent obedience and she easily has her ways by capitalizing his weakness.
Vasanthasena: Tomorrow, a triumphant welcome to Manokaran. At that time I have to sit like a widow in a corner.
King (embarrassed): Vasanthi! Don’t talk like this. You can come to the hall, enjoying all the honours.
Vasanthasena: Can I? I am reluctant. I pity you! What can you do? Courtiers won’t allow me. Though you may be an emperor, you are to fear the lay citizens.
King: No, you can come.
Vasanthasena: I may come, but whatever I am, Can I, this unfortunate woman, who has always been thinking intently of your love, sit by you on the ruby throne brought from the enemy land? Am I such a lucky one?
King: Why by my side? If I am powerful like Lord Siva, I may even keep you on top of my head, like the Ganga!
Vasanthasena: If that is so, then, tomorrow at the royal court!
The final scene in which the mother and the son, Padmavathy and Manoharan, rise to great heights, will be etched in anyone’s mind.
Manokaran: … At least, after seeing the injustice done by a jackal who is thirsting to mount the throne, won’t you grant me permission? A sword is not required, mother! A word by mouth will do. No forces are required mother! Mother’s objection alone should go! No weapons are required, mother – just a signal of the eye is enough. For you, me and all of us, there will be liberty.Mother, where is the command? Please permit me. I shall finish them.
Padmavathy: … Mother Earth, bearing this depraved woman who thirsts to wreak vengeance upon this tender child, upon the prince royal, upon the king who rules the world, and all the rest! If it is true that you are grateful, and if it is true that mothers from valiant dynasties have power, if it is true that the dauntless Monokaran who never bent before enemies is my son, let this chain break into pieces! Let the laughter of the unjust be silenced! Let this hall crumble into pieces! Crumble into pieces!
Encouraged by his mother’s command, Manokaran topples the pillar; Vasanthi is dragged by the invisible being to the cave; the king is released.
Vasanthan’s innocent statement on the eve of his death will be ringing in the ears of the audience even after they leave the theatre.
Vasanthan: Brother! I can feel if the dagger thrown by this sinner had hit you, how much pain you would have suffered. You should live, brother! Brother! you alone should rule the country. I should die.
There is an exquisite group of one-act plays by Kalaignar mainly written for films emulating the example of the device of a play within a play successfully used by Elizabethan playwrights. It was handled almost as a subgenre by him in order to expatiate on socially relevant issues and to preach Dravidian ideals such as the need to improve the lot of the poor, the urgency to wipe out the caste hierarchy, the value of women’s education and the importance of exposing superstitious beliefs.
The legend about the love between Saleem, son of Emperor Akbar and Anarkali, a dancing girl has become a theme of perennial interest and every artist worth the name would like to sing the glory of the archetypal pair of lovers in a poem or a short story or a novel. Kalaignar treats it in a play consisting of four memorable scenes. The encounter between Raja Mann Singh and Anarkali reveals the intensity of her love for Saleem as well as her shrewdness and selfless courage.
Raja: Look here, Anarkali, I’ll give you one lakh gold coins. Take that and get away from here to some place. Let the prince forget you!
Anar: If I loved him for gold I’d go now! Why talk of lakhs, there are a number of rich men ready to pour money in crores at my feet. Be it they or you - or the gold you offer me – All these are like sand to me- all these equal sand.
Raja: … young woman! Were I in your place I would certainly choose to forget Saleem!
Anar: Your would forget – because – you are not Anarkali!
Raja: All right! What do you say as your final decision!
Anar: You have no right to intercept my opinions!
Raja: What?
Anar: Anar’s liberty to love will not yield to Delhi imperialism!
Raja: Let me see its ending too.
Saleem and Anarkali are arrested and it is decreed that she be entombed alive. Saleem rushes to save his lady love but before he can reach the place, the tomb is sealed.
Saleem: … Sinners! You have murdered Anarkali! You have put out the flame of my heart! Broken the divine Veena! Buried the deathless heroine of the epic of love in a heap of stones! Hidden her eternal beauty! But, you silly fools, none of you have the courage to pluck her from Saleem’s heart! None has the skill! ...
What though I have all these? What of all these joys? To me who have no right to claim my love who has filled my heart? To me who have not the liberty to live with the one I loved? What if I had all these or not? Why this palace? Why this luxury? Why this royal life? Why a thousand to run errands at my command? Why all these?
Akbar’s son should not fall in love with a dancing girl! Oh tomb that encloses my most beautiful love, tell me! You have devoured her because she did not have royal status. Akbar Badsha, a muslim can marry a Rajput woman Jyothi Bai. But the son of that Rajput woman should not love a dancing girl! Oh, tomb that has swallowed my love, tell me! Is the judgment proper! You won’t answer! You know only to devour life! Come on, do it now. You are used to doing it.
This jewel of a playlet is a worthy contribution of a Tamil to the ever-growing literature centring round Anarkali and Saleem.
A play consisting of five scenes with the immortal Socrates as its protagonist is one of the most magnificent tributes paid to the formidable philosopher from Greece. The Tamils have always had great admiration for this foremost rationalist and would cherish the belief that there is a reference to him in the Kural that says that the most cultured would rest content with drinking poison even when it is poured right in their presence. Plato’s account of the last days of Socrates’ life warrants such an inference. Stone, an American scholar, has a well-researched article on what happened on the day on which Socrates courted death by drinking poison. The Dravidian Movement with Periyar as its mentor takes delight in portraying a symbol of rationalism. Kalignar has carefully gone through all the available material on Socrates and presents the distilled essence in five short scenes.
In one typical scene, Socrates is seen addressing a gathering at the market place:
Oh dear people who come to the market to buy things! I have something special for you which you cannot find anywhere in the market! An invaluable diamond! A brilliant pearl that is got by diving into the deep ocean called research! A thing that is not sold in the shops! Wisdom! Wisdom! Come here dear men to buy this sweet product!
At an Athenian Court of law, when several charges are leveled against him, he responds with incredible equanimity.
Anitas: This is how he corrupts all young men!
Socrates: How can an old man spoil young men? Am I a prostitute who casts her net to catch young men? A damsel to feast their eyes?
Meletus: You have an enchanting language which sluts do not have. Use of enthralling words which the whores do not have… Verbal tricks… endearing phrases… You have mastered such strategies …..
Socrates: You may call me a wizard! ... Dear loving young man! Do I corrupt young men? Or do they come to me on their own and get spoilt?
Meletus: You voluntarily accost them and corrupt them! At the market places, at junctions of streets, on pavements, in midstreets, in shades, in shades of trees where some four men would gather to rest… there is not a time when you do not harangue!
When it is announced that Socrates is condemned to death, he continues to be calm and reacts without any perturbation of mind.
The court of law of the city state of Athens has a silent smile on reading out the proud decree! I am proud to be the first in history to receive this Judgement from the Athenian court! They have rewarded me with death for having instructed them to hold up the lamp of intelligence in their hands!
It is when Socrates is asked to give his final piece of advice that he makes a heart-rending appeal.
What new thing am I going to say? Gnothi seauton … know yourself! Question everything as what, why and how? This is how a carver in stone became a carver of thought, a thinker. Never lose your sense by accepting anything as authority as this man said, or that man said - whatever any man says, try to assess their words in your own way using your rationality. That is the message I want to leave with you and the world at large… If you are going to bury me, bury along with me all the superstitious myths and falsehood that abound in the world! If you are going to burn me, burn all the bundles of books written by false philosophers and dissolve in water even the ashes of them! Farewell! My dear Athens, farewell! The broad and beautiful streets of Athens which helped me to run round in joy and deliver my emotional outbursts, Farewell! Shades of trees along the streets! Platforms in the front of the houses! This aged man takes leave of all of you! Proud young men that walk upright! Young brothers and protectors of our nation! Dearest friends! Old men and mothers! May the last tender respects Socrates tenders all be yours! If there be any who truly and whole heartedly still believes and contends that this old man corrupted the Greek youth let them forgive me! Let them forgive me! Let me go. Bye! Fail not to think! Eh, world! Fail not to think! Know yourself! Know yourself!
Kalaignar has composed a prose-poem worthy of one of the wisest of human beings that have ever walked on earth.
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