Despite considerable material progress, the world still views India as an ancient land steeped in spirituality, with a culture that stretches back to a hoary, unfathomable past. Indians, too, subscribe to this glorification of its timelessness and have been encouraged, especially in the last few years, to take an obsessive pride in this tryst with eternity. Thus, we can hardly be faulted in subscribing to very marketable propositions, like the one that claims our classical dance forms represent an unbroken tradition for several millennia and all of them go back to the venerable sage, Bharata Muni, who composed Natyashastra. No one, however, is sure when he lived or wrote this treatise on dance and theatre. Estimates range from 500 BC to 500 AD, which is a rather long stretch of time, though pragmatists oftenrather long stretch of time, though pragmatists often settle for a shorter time band, 200 BC to 200 AD. This is approximately when the Mahabharata and Ramayana were also composed. While linking current traditions with the oldest dates possible surely confers more awe and respect upon Indian classical dance, it will become increasingly clear that this may not be accurate. In thisincreasingly clear that this may not be accurate. In this article, as we navigate through the dance traditions we celebrate today, we realise that what we see now is really not what was performed centuries ago.
A new stage, a new audience
The very term “classical” denotes that it was meant for a limited class of connoisseurs or rasikas. So, a question that often arises is how large or limited were the earlier ‘classy’ audiences of ancient and medieval classical‘classy’ audiences of ancient and medieval classical dance. To find a possible answer, I managed to obtain thedance. To find a possible answer, I managed to obtain the floor-space measurements of the mandapas attached to the more important temples that were under the care of the Chennai Circle of the Archaeological Survey of India. This data revealed that the public halls of the temples were usually quite small, relatively speaking. Exceptwere usually quite small, relatively speaking. Except the two massive Brihadeeshwarar temples at Thanjavur and Gangaikonda Cholapuram that were endowed with very large public spaces, the rest had limited areas for dance and music. The space for performances in the mandapas in the latter category was in the range of 200 to 400 square feet, while some went up to 650 square feet. They could, thus, accommodate only small audiences of some 30 to 40 persons, or at best, seat a maximum of 80 or so. Therefore, if these performing arts had not been liberated from the confines of the temple or the palace or the kothi-haveli, they would have never been democratised and thus viewed and appreciated by large numbers, unprecedented in the history of India.
Like all ancient institutions, Indian classical dance forms also suffered from the vicissitudes of time. Many of them underwent long periods of ‘breaks’ when these traditions received no patronage, when political fortunes fell. At times, several dances were even banned by the colonial government. The point is that the classical forms we see nowadays represent an unbroken continuity in neither form nor substance – they have had to move a lot from the past and undergo fundamental changes, to adjust with the times and technology. Consequently, they have had to dispense with many aspects of the glorious tradition that had been built up over several centuries. The arrival of the Western proscenium stage in India and the setting up of modern auditoria altered the landscape of the performing arts so radically that all forms had to revamp their presentation protocols to survive. The stone or tiled floor of temples and palaces was, for instance, replaced by the wooden floor of the proscenium stage, and those that had an element of cushioning gave an 'extra bounce', which dancers learnt to utilise. Dancers also had to reorient their steps and postures as their audience was no more seated all around them, as in temples or palaces of the past, but in front, in much larger numbers than ever before. Similarly, while microphones and better acoustics management, coupled with new lighting technologies, did help classical music and dance a lot, they also demanded re-harmonisation with the new paradigm. While classical forms transcended the limitations of performing only before a small elite, the new democratic viewers brought different tastes and preferences into the halls.
Politically speaking
As India moved towards Independence, it was imperative to present or foist a 'national culture and tradition' and it was also realised that a federal cultural conglomerate like ours would need to project a multi-ethnic, multi-dimensional one, rather than have just one 'national dance' or one national music, theatre or even food. The pre-colonial glory of India, that had been slighted and belittled by the British, was now brought out of the archives and the past, real or imagined, sought to be resuscitated, re-energised and relived. At this stage, let us try to locate when exactly the processes of modernisation' began and when these classical forms were 'democratised' enough for the people of India to claim 'ownership' of their traditional culture. The answer we find after examining the history of many important forms of Indian classical dance is interesting, as everything seems to hover around mainly one decade, the 1930s. This is when most of them underwent a lot of 'reinvention' and considerable overhauling, and also when the face-off between the past and the future was the most pronounced. Those classical dances that missed the bus in this brilliant decade appear to have been taken up for resuscitation and repackaging in the next round, in the 1950s. But the undeniable fact is that Indians had a plenitude of reasonably ancient cultural traditions in many different regions, that had been cultivated and nurtured over centuries. As these could easily be woven into a new cultural tapestry, India did not, therefore, need to conjure and 'manufacture' culture - like the Disney characters of America or the `Bush Ballads' and Crocodile Dundee of Australia.
India's first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, took special care to rebuild modern India on the strong foundations of the past, and he was also personally involved in setting up the three national academies for art, literature and the performing arts. The last of these, the Sangeet Natak Akademi, which was meant for music, dance and theatre, was set up in 1952, and its task appeared to be ready and cut out for it. Those ancient forms of classical dance that had already begun their new life from the 1930s were waiting for a much-required boost from the new government in India. As for the other classical dances, like Odissi, that had not yet been resuscitated by the time the country attained Independence, actually needed more help and national 'recognition'. The first National Seminar of Dance was held in New Delhi in 1958, amidst a lot of hope, as the most pioneering and historic step that was taken to make sense of the complex diversity of varied forms of classical dance in different regions of India. Kuchipudi of Andhra Pradesh, for instance, made its pitch for being given recognition but felt slighted at not being given appropriate status. It was confirmed at this seminar that India was literally sitting on a gold mine of incredibly rich ancient dance forms that had survived several centuries, with or without breaks. What it needed most was revival to the extent possible and also serious 'packaging' for modern audiences, both in India and abroad. This was achieved by redesigning costumes, and reconstructing the grammar of dance, as also by using new techniques. Shortening performance time for recitals was critical as contemporary audiences were strapped for time, unlike the leisurely rich of yesteryears. Almost all classical dance forms were, therefore, compelled to innovate and deviate to some extent from Shastric or Marga mandates. They had to attract and hold back present-day audiences, who had many more attractive cultural expressions and entertainment to choose from.
We cannot proceed further without referring to a feature that appeared quite common among several classical dances, irrespective of region. It is the phenomenon of how a new class of performers, usually from upper economic strata and castes, took these dances out from the monopolistic possession of their age-old custodians. The latter consisted of temple dancers, the 'mistresses of the Lord' as these traditional dasi attam practitioners were called, or court dancers who had kept the flame burning, often under adverse circumstances. Many of the forms associated with temple devadasis and palace tawaifs carried the dichotomous distinction of being 'classy, highly skilled arts' and, at the same time, being branded as sensual and loose. We could view the process of modernisation of form and technique and the accompanying sanitisation of public repute that began in the 1930s with Bharatanatyam as a sort of 'Brahmanical appropriation'. In most cases, the new dancers from the upper strata overshadowed the older hereditary class of performers, while the latter usually stepped back and faded away. There were, of course, brilliant exceptions like Tanjore Balasaraswati of devadasi origins, who became a world-class Bharatanatyam performer, loved and adored by the public. In a way, therefore, she was the dance-counterpart of M.S. Subbulakshmi, the nightingale of Carnatic music, who was also the daughter of a devadasi. Both of them more than made up for the ignominy and exploitation that their matrilineal ancestors had suffered, over centuries.
Now that we have analysed the basic theme, we may take a look at individual classical dance forms, beginning with Bharatanatyam, a form that was completely overhauled in the 1930s. The 30th of December, 1935, is a landmark date in its history, as it is on this day that a very daring 31-year-old Brahmin girl, Rukmini Devi Arundale, created a stir by taking head-on the issues connected to Bharatanatyam. The elite in Madras was agog with the news that this young lady of high social standing was actuallyiping to perform the dance of the low sadirs, but when Rukmini Devi started walking up to the stage at the Adyar Theatre before an amazed audience, the social leaders from her own Brahmin community of Madras staged a walkout in sheer disgust. Rukmini Devi, who had dared to marry a Christian, learnt Western dance from Anna Pavlova when she had gone to Europe with her husband. After returning to India, she took the trouble to learn Bharatanatyam from a renowned traditional devadasi dancer and her shattering of tradition added a lot of fuel to a raging controversy around the very existence of Bharatanatyam. As a temple dance based on the institution of devadasis, it was under attack by the British, as a grossly immoral system. An 'Anti-Nautch Movement' was inspired by Christian missionaries and moralistic Europeans in the late 19th and early 20th centuries not only in Madras but in Odisha and several parts of India.
Rebel redeemers
We come across accounts of high-minded activists, like one prudish Miss Tennant, who were fighting against "wicked forms of dance" and in 1910, they managed to have a partial ban imposed on dances held in temples. In 1927, the Viceroy's Council of State in Delhi seriously deliberated on a motion to tackle the evils associated with the devadasi system itself and licentious dances. The debate that affected Rukmini Devi in Madras was triggered by Dr. Muthulakshmi Reddy, an activist legislator who was the daughter of a devadasi. She was determined to end this age-old system of dedicating girls to temples, for dance as well as for physical exploitation. Ranged on the other side were people like E. Krishna lyer, a Brahmin rasika or connoisseur of Bharatanatyam, who demanded that this exquisite, ancient dance form be preserved, while the controversial institution of devadasis could be dumped. He obtained the support of the Congress and organised the first All India Music Conference in Madras in 1927, which led to the founding of the iconic Madras Music Academy in 1928. On her part, Reddy had persuaded the Madras Legislative Council to pass a stern resolution against "this social evil", and in 1930, she moved a Bill to abolish the devadasi system altogether. This was, however, opposed by many like lyer, and even by quite a few devadasis, who claimed they were highly acclaimed artistes of an ancient cultural form and certainly not the vulnerable prostitutes that the Bill made them out to be. Incidentally, it was only in 1947, that the Devadasi Abolition Bill was finally approved in Madras, by a Congress government.
When discussing Rukmini Devi, we must mention another pioneering dancer, an American lady, Esther Sherman, who stormed the world of Indian classical dance even before Rukmini Devi did. Sherman, who declared herself to be 'reborn' as Ragini Devi, had arrived in India in the early 1930s, to learn and propagate South Indian classical dances. We place her name after Rukmini Devi's because the chronology of her mission and important dates are a bit hazy, but also because Rukmini Devi's impact on a single dance form in Madras was really astounding, while Ragini moved from form to form and all over India, Europe and America. We know that in America, she had published a book on Indian dance in 1930 and that she had tried to absorb, quite voraciously, the skills of Bharatanatyam, Kathakali, Mohiniattam and Kuchipudi. Ragini also gave public performances in many parts of India in order to revive these forms and helped to re-package them, while bestowing greater respectability on a vocation that was not viewed favourably. She met Vallathol Narayana Menon, the legendary Malayali poet and social activist. He had founded Kerala Kalamandalam in Thrissur in 1930 and Ragini sought his blessings. The high-water mark of her career was when she danced in partnership with the great Kathakali dancer, Guru Gopinath. Ragini tried many forms, but she is better known for popularising Kathakali, which, incidentally, was not held as disreputable, and Kuchipudi.
Since we mentioned Vallathol, we may as well touch upon the other dance form he retrieved and 'modernised' — also in the 1930s. We refer to Kerala's Mohiniattam, that adheres to the Lasya type, a more graceful and feminine form of dancing. We come across Mohiniattam poses in the sculptures at the 11th-century Vishnu temple at Thrikkodithanam, and the Kidangoor Subramanya temple. We get the first direct reference to it in the 16th-century legal text called Vyavaharamala, and we know that the normative structure of this dance form was finalised in the 18th century. But as it was associated with sensuality and sexual exploitation, the British banned it in the 1930s. This led to greater public awareness in Travancore-Cochin and also to protests led by the iconic Vallathol, to revive this traditional dance of Kerala, by purging undesirable elements. Consequently, the prohibition was partially relaxed in 1940. As mentioned, he established the Kalamandalam as the centre from which Mohiniattam and Kathakali was spread all over. Among other stalwarts who pioneered the revival of Mohiniattam in the middle and late decades of the 20th century were Mukundraja, Krishna Panicker, Thankamony, as well as the guru and dancer Kalamandalam Kalyanikutty Amma. As in most other age-old dance forms, we note that in Mohiniattam also, quite a bit of repackaging began in the 1930s, once a new class that was socially and economically superior to the customary practitioners entered the arena and `sanitised' this dance.
We now return to Ragini Devi to recall her contribution to another form of classical dance of the south, Kuchipudi. This dance-drama category originated from a village in the Krishna district of Andhra Pradesh and Ragini Devi claimed that this name is derived from the Sanskrit word `Kusilavapuram' or "the village of actors". Like other classical dances, it invokes the Natyashastra for its inspiration and presentation techniques, from postures and gestures to bhava, rasa, steps and other dance methods. The older, original version of Kuchipudi is mentioned in copper plate inscriptions of the 10th century, and then it is referred to in texts in the 15th century, but it was only in the 17th century that a monk named Tirtha Narayanayati and his disciple, Siddhendra Yogi, rebuilt the dance form in its modern avatar. It was always a dance-drama performed only by Brahmin males, even where female roles were concerned. Despite some support from the Qutb Shahis, the rulers of Golconda, the form languished from the 17th century and the British colonial Raj's distaste for Indian dances and its frequent clampdowns only worsened the situation. From the 1930s, revivalists like Vedantam Lakshminarayana Sastri, Vempati Venkatanarayana Sastri and Chinta Venkataramayya started retrieving the situation from the 1930s, by re-codifying the form, permitting women into it and taking advantage of modern techniques. This is an interesting case of de-Brahminisation of the dance form and adding doses of sensuality by women instead of the other way round. In fact, female dancers like Ragini Devi, her daughter Indrani Rahman, and actress Hema Malini would eventually bring worldwide fame to it, as did iconic couples like Raja-Radha Reddy, the Dhananjayans and the Narasimhacharis.
Generational guardians
Moving to north India, we discover that Kathak had the privileged history of being popularised at the national and international level by males of the Maharaj (Mishra) clan of Lucknow. This runs counter to the picture in the public mind of it being associated with seductive courtesans, and we may recall that even the British were entertained by these `nautch girls' from the earliest days of their arrival. This is, of course, not to say that women did not play a major role here. They did, but where the revival and reorganisation of this dance form in the 20th century is concerned, none can deny the greatest contribution that was made by the Maharaj family. Though this clan of Kathak specialists had entered the palaces of Awadh with this dance in the latter part of the 19th century, it was actually its third generation that really took it out of the traditional habitat and converted it into a stage-worthy art. The two names to remember are Shambhu Maharaj and Lachhu Maharaj, whose best period was from around the middle of the 20th century. While Shambhu moved to India's capital, Delhi, to lead the new Kathak Kendra and train the first two to three generations of dancers from respectable, nontraditional families, Lachhu made the film capital of India, Mumbai, his base. Besides outstanding stage performances, Lachhu made his mark as a film choreographer who crafted the unforgettable dance scenes in Hindi classic movies — from Mahal in the late 1940s to Mughal-e-Azam and Pakeezah in the 1960s and early 1970s. Thus, we note that the repackaging of Kathak took place some two decades after Bharatanatyam and Kathakali. Nevertheless, it appeared to outshine them not only as the hallmark of 'north Indian culture' but also thanks to the very popular Hindi film industry. Interestingly, while in many other dance forms, the new upper caste dancers appropriated them from women of lower social strata, and thereafter 'sanitised' the dance, in Kathak, the leading lights were themselves males from the upper castes, who passed on the skills to great women dancers.
Coming to Odissi, we find that though it was surely among the oldest forms of classical dances and is the only one that is depicted in bas relief sculptures in the pre-Christian era, it was sadly languishing from the late 19th century till the middle of the 20th century. As we have mentioned, women temple dancers were equated with public prostitution and several restrictions were imposed on them by the British. Consequently, the traditional mahari dancers at Puri and elsewhere were held in disrepute, despite the intricate skills and aesthetics that they had evolved and preserved for several centuries. Protests against the colonial ban arose in the middle of the 20th century and it was decried as cultural discrimination against the Hindus. But progress to reform Odissi was slow and it was only after the British left in 1947, could pioneering gurus get into the act. Among the latter were worthies like Kelucharan Mohapatra, Mayadhar Raut, Gangadhar Pradhan, Pankaj Charan Das and Deba Prasad Das who could finally revive Odissi. In fact, Laxmipriya Mohapatra did to Odissi in 1948 what Rukmini Devi had done to Bharatanatyam in 1935, by performing a dance recital, an Odissi abhinaya, in the Annapurna Theatre in Cuttack. In the 1950s, a disciple of Kelucharan, Sanjukta Panigrahi, was among the earliest to popularise modern Odissi in India and abroad, while a decade later, in the mid-'60s, his noted disciples like Kumkum Mohanty and Sonal Mansingh stormed the Indian dance world with Odissi. Others like Kasturi Pattanaik followed and enhanced the artistic impact of this form, integrating the two streams, mahari and gotipua dances, that led to modern Odissi. Here again, we find that the upper castes of Odisha led by the Karans, Khandayats and Brahmins, were the ones who created the new wave of enthusiasm and refinement — while the original discredited performers disappeared.
Unusual champions
We now travel to Manipur in the north-east of India to take a look at the seventh form of classical dance that evolved there, from the 14th or 15th centuries. Though Manipuri claims a Vedic past, it is clear that some components of this dance have surely deep roots in the tribal history of the Meitei, the majority community. The fact is, however, that much of the present-day version goes back to just two centuries, well after this kingdom adopted Gaudiya Vaishnavism from Bengal as its state religion. Manipuri combines the 'great tradition' of the east and northeast of the country with the little tradition of its local 'Lai Hardoba' and other pre-Hindu festivals and rituals. The first major intervention to introduce this unique and graceful dance to the world was taken by Rabindranath Tagore in 1919. India's Nobel Laureate had witnessed a dance composition of this school, called Goshtha Lila, in Sylhet that year and was completely overwhelmed by its inherent grace and subdued delicate movements. He took immediate steps to introduce Manipuri dance teaching in Santiniketan, his internationally famous cultural institution in Bengal. He invited the finest expert of this dance form of the kingdom of Manipur, Budhimantra Singh, to join and a few years later, he induced Naba Kumar to teach. Later, other celebrated gurus like Senarik Singh Rajkumar, Nileshwar Mukherji and Atomba Singh were also invited to teach at Santiniketan.
These masters also assisted Tagore to choreograph many of his own dance-dramas, Rabindra Nrittya, where the mudras, gestures and sublime elegance of Manipuri is so pronounced. Since Tagore took up his initiatives in the 1920s, his intervention in Indian classical dance actually preceded the modernisation of older dance traditions of south India, which commenced in the 1930s. Manipuri can thus actually claim to be the first of the classical dances to undergo systematisation and readjustment to the new habitat of halls, lights and sounds in modern India. Since there was no opprobrium attached to this religious dance, no sanitisation was required and we cannot decipher any planned appropriation by upper castes or non-traditional groups here. But Tagore's encouragement and the support of other critical persons, like the Gaekwad of Baroda, meant that its renown soared from the 1920s and 1930s, and several new practitioners from all parts of India joined its fold. Bipin Singh took the form to Kolkata and Mumbai where it became immensely popular. The Jhaveri sisters of the latter city elevated it to new heights, as did Devyani Chalia and Charu Mathur.
We now come to Sattriya of Assam, the last of the eight original classical dances traditionally recognised by the Sangeet Natak Akademi, which received this honour only in 2000. Though this was much after the first seven forms, its history goes back at least to the 16th century when Srimanta Sankaradeva popularised it. Sankaradeva found this dance, and its one-act plays called Ankiya Nat, to be very effective in spreading his message of love and brotherhood and popularising the life of Krishna and Radha; and he used it as a powerful medium of mass propagation of Vaishnava religion. Like Kuchipudi, it thus started as a religious dance performance only of males, mainly the monks, who displayed it at the sattras or monasteries of Assamese Vaishnavism or in the public prayer and dance halls called re-choreograph their earlier namghars. Maheshwar Neog formalised the modern form of Sattriya, while Rasheswar Saikia Borbayan and Maniram Datta Moktar played a big role as well. Without getting into great details, we find that the major tasks in modernising this medieval dance were to secularise it by delinking it from religious spaces, and also to permit women to dance. Besides, like other dance forms, Sattriya also had to adapt to the modern stage, lights — and sound. Though it was surely a temple dance, this form was not associated with the sleaze that marked its counterpart temple dances, where women were used and exploited.
We have briefly covered the short history of how all the major classical dances of India had to go through different processes of modernisation some of which were common — like moving out of their traditional settings. All of them had to performances to suit the confines of the proscenium stage; adjust to and utilise modern light and sound technologies; and; what is more important, shorten the time of their recitals to suit contemporary audiences. In several cases, we have seen how the lotus of classical dance rose from muck, while in others, men had to make way for women to enter their preserve. In almost all cases, a new class of better-educated professionals from the more solvent upper and middle classes (and castes) emerged, to lead these forms. Interestingly, many dancers chose to specialise in forms that were not connected to their own regions or states but had developed in other parts of India. This helped cross-connect Indians of all corners with dances of their preferences, even if they were at the other end of the vast country, which helped unify the nation. It also entailed that entrants had to learn not only the language in which the dance form they chose had arisen or was nursed, but also the culture and history of the region.
It is undeniable that these classical dances have all gone through remarkable transformation and rigorous modernisation in just a few decades, which means that they appear considerably different from their original traditions. Independent India needed to reconstruct and reclaim its past and secure for itself the aristocracy that only antiquity can bestow — so it acquired classical dance, sans the traditional practitioners, in most cases. But that is now history.