CHAPTER III
THE RAM LILA OR PLAY OF RAMA
Let us now see how the stirring events of this Indian epic are brought dramatically before nineteenth century spectators.
Days before the time fixed for the Dasahra festival, men, done up like monkeys and attended by drummers, may be seen in the bazaars collecting money for the fair, at which the more striking leading incidents of the epic are annually performed, part by part, in a rude pantomimic fashion. Sometimes the opening scene is a great marriage procession. One such, on an unusually large scale, was got up in Lahore in 1884, at the expense of certain rich bankers. This motley and gigantic procession was made up of very heterogeneous elements. Several camels led the way; some bulky elephants put in an appearance, and a great number of mounted men, on good cavalry horses, gave dignity to the procession. Three or four well-filled carriages, gaily decorated with tinsel, flowers and coloured cloths, had the honour of accommodating the friends of Rama. A few huge litters, each borne aloft on the shoulders of sixteen or twenty bearers, were conspicuous objects in the throng. On some of these sat men personating the gods and goddesses of India in all their grotesqueness; on others squatted favourite female singers with their attendant minstrels, who delighted the audience with their grace and vocalperformances. Imitation artillery armed with explosive bombs, dancers, mountebanks, musicians, and an innumerable crowd of ordinary citizens on foot, raised noise and dust enough to gratify the most pleasure-seeking Indian mob. The hero, Rama, and his inseparable brother, were dragged along on wooden horses, placed on a wheeled platform. There they sat, side by side, holding tiny bows and arrows in their hands, in a most ridiculous way, while the less important mythological personages, divine or other, came along in carriages or litters. There was a painful want of organization about the procession, and the usual mixture of the sumptuous and tawdry, the rich and squalid, to which one is accustomed in India.
A feature of the Dasahra festival is the number of men, disfigured with paint and ashes, who go about with iron skewers or pieces of cane passed through the skin of their arms, legs, sides, and throat, or even through the tongue. I once called up a party of these men and examined them. In answer to my remark, thrown out as a feeler, that the skewers had been passed through old perforations, the leader of the party indignantly pulled a young man before me, pinched up a good bit of the skin of his forearm, and there and then passed a blunt iron needle through it, which could not have been much thinner than an ordinary lead pencil. No blood flowed, and certainly the man operated upon did not wince in the slightest degree. After this the leader of the party, having satisfied me that the skin of his own neck below the chin was perfectly sound, passed a skewer through it with his own hand. In both cases a tolerable amount of force was necessary to pass the iron through the skin, but no blood flowed. These men, who are looked upon with a sort of awe by the vulgar, assured me that they were protected from pain or injury by a secretmantraof Guru Gorucknath’s known only to themselves.
They have probably learned, by the experience of many generations, safe places for the insertion of their skewers; but I was told by a native medical man that serious consequences sometimes follow their senseless ill-treatment of their own persons. The present of a rupee sent these absurd fellows away apparently well satisfied.
MEN WITH KNIVES AND SKEWERS PASSED THROUGH THEIR FLESH.
(From a photograph by W. C. Oman.)
Near the temple of Vishnu, by Rattan Singh’s Serai, arrangements had been made for a dramatic representation of Rama’s famous history. When I first came upon the spot there were five or six hundred people assembled. The women and children, arrayed in their holiday best, crowded the roofs of the surrounding buildings to witness the performance and, with the gay red and yellow of their dresses and their tinkling anklets, gave colour and animation to the scene. Men and boys were below. Three merry-go-rounds of the kind patronized by the people, were in full operation, creaking hideously.
Of the Ram Lila itself the only signs were two wooden horses, like those to be seen in European nurseries, only nearly life-size, standing, side by side, on a single wooden platform placed on wheels: They were painted white, with gaudy patches of red all over them. A few boys with monkey-masks on, capered about with switches in their hands. The crowd gradually increased, and the arrival of the performers was eagerly expected. But even yet some money-making bunniahs, surrounded by their pots and pans, their jars and other vessels, were busily plying their trade in oil, right in the midst of the assembling crowd; while on one side several women kept diligently separating the chaff from the wheat and sending clouds of dust amongst the spectators. At length a great shout announced the arrival of Rama and Lakshmana, who were carried in a gaudylitter on the shoulders of a number of men. This was the signal for the commencement of business. The crowd began to settle down. The central space was cleared. Rama and Lakshmana walked bare-footed round the arena, showing themselves to the spectators. They were attired in yellow garments adorned with tinsel, and had on their heads high and much decorated hats, which, I happened to learn subsequently, cost justthree rupeeseach. Garlands of flowers encircled their necks, and their hats were literally covered with floral wreaths. Their faces were thickly painted with what looked like yellow tumeric, daubed over with some red powder, these pigments being, no doubt, considered most suitable for imparting beauty to an Indian complexion. The brothers carried small bows, like those usually placed in the hands of Cupids, and were attended by a man who vigorously waved achowreeover their heads. After this preliminary exhibition, during which several masked figures began to appear on the scene, a white-headed Brahman, book in hand (it was the Hindi version of Tulsi Das[45]) began to instruct the performers in their several parts. Seated all together—demigods, monkeys, and Brahman—in the open space, before all the spectators, they learned the first act of the day’s performance. In deference to their position, and probably also out of consideration for their fine clothes, Rama and his brother were made to sit on a white sheet, whilst the others squatted comfortably in the dust. When the actors had received their instructions, they proceeded to carry them out in a style which rendered it very difficult to comprehend what they actually meant to represent; but the Hindu spectators, familiar with the old tale and its usual dramatic rendering, seemedto recognize at least the leading events which it was intended to bring before them. At the conclusion of the act, or scene, Rama and his brother, with the rest, came together again to receive their instructions from the old Brahman stage-manager, and, when duly instructed, again dispersed to perform their several parts in a more or less imperfect manner. One portion of the performance consisted in dragging the brothers round the arena on their wooden horses. The acting or pantomime was very rude, and the whole seemed childish in the extreme. But the old story, thus brought before them, was evidently as much appreciated by the spectators as it had been by their ancestors for fifty generations. And rude and childish though the performance might be, it was probably not more so than the Miracle Plays which delighted our forefathers in the Middle Ages.
The dramatic representation extended over several days, the most popular scenes being the amputation of Surpanakha’s nose and the abduction of Sita. The former, a mere rough and tumble performance, without anything striking or dramatic about it, was greeted with uproarious mirth by the spectators, and may, possibly, be the original suggestion and sanction of much of the female nose-cutting so commonly practised in India by jealous husbands. In the other scene Ravana appeared as a hermit. The supernatural doe was dragged about the arena. Rama and his brother were, of course, lured into pursuit of the deceiver and Sita, left alone, was carried off by Ravana. Jatayus, the vulture king,—represented by a huge paper bird carried about by a man hither and thither in a wild sort of way,—rushed to the rescue of the fair dame; but after a brief, though fierce, struggle was hacked to pieces by the demon. After this lamentable encounter, Sita, to the great grief of the onlookers, was carried away to Lanka.
The downfall of Lanka and final triumph of Rama are scenes of too great importance to be dealt with like the rest. For these, special preparations and as large a theatre as possible—some wide open plain for example—are requisite, as thousands gather to see Lanka and the demons given over to the flames.
I select for description a favourable instance of the siege and destruction of Lanka which I witnessed at the military station of Meean Meer a few years ago. It was got up by the sepoys of some of the native regiments stationed there.
Upon an openmaidanor plain was assembled an eager crowd of spectators. A large space for the performance of the Ram Lila was kept clear by sepoys, placed as sentries at short intervals. About the centre of this space towered two huge effigies, without legs, probably forty feet high, representing Ravana and Kumbhakarna. Each figure stood with its arms extended right and left, level with the shoulders, in the most absurd of attitudes, resembling the pictures of men which young children are so fond of drawing. Ravana had ten faces,[46]and two arms with twenty hands,[47]while Kumbhakarna had two hands only. There they stood, the terrible demon king of Lanka, and his no less formidable brother, grotesqueness itself. At one side, opposite to and facing the figures, was a painted wooden car—lent by the king of the celestials to Rama on this memorable occasion—standing on small wheels, like a child’s toy, with two wooden horses attached to it. On the car were seated two handsome, bare-legged and bare-footed boys, dressed in yellow satin robes, with bows in their hands.Their hats somewhat resembled a bishop’s mitre in shape, and were made of red and silver materials. These boys, the reader does not need to be told, represented Rama and his brother Lakshmana. In attendance upon them were about thirty men, dressed in dusky red clothes, and with marks on their faces, who personated the army of monkeys that assisted the heroes. To the right of the two huge figures was an inclosed space which stood for the city or citadel of Lanka. Various mythological figures were also to be seen moving about the plain, in a more or less objectless manner. Two tall men, got up as women, went springing about, brandishing naked swords. They represented female Rakshasas. A man dressed up to look very corpulent, clothed in yellow, with long flowing hair and having serpents coiled round his throat, was dragged about upon a wooden bull over the field. This corpulent personage was no other than Mahadeva (Siva) on his bull (Nandi). Thus far the show was, at least, mythological andHindu. But, by a curious anachronism, the features of a modern fair mixed themselves up with the old-world representation. Perhaps Indian taste in this nineteenth century demanded something more than the undiluted ancient epic. Whatever may have been the cause, I observed, with surprise, that within the inclosure several natives with painted faces personated Europeans of both sexes, to the great amusement of the onlookers. A man in shaggy furs, holding a torn umbrella over his head, and attended by a fellow disguised as a European policeman, was announced to the spectators as the “Nawab of Cabul.” There were also imitation bears with their leaders and such like grotesque shows for the amusement of the populace. Although the vast majority of the spectators were natives, many Europeans were present, some in their carriages, some on elephants, and one or two on camels. The scene, which was certainlystrange and picturesque, became especially lively when, towards the close of the proceedings, the explosion of bombs and the discharge of rockets alarmed the horses and elephants. One huge beast, carrying a European gentleman and three ladies in a bighowdah, was an object of interest and a cause of some anxiety to me, for his restive and erratic movements seemed to threaten destruction to me or to my carriage, at the least.
“THE TERRIBLE DEMON KING OF LANKA AND HIS NO LESS FORMIDABLE BROTHER.”
(From a photograph by W. C. Oman.)
The proceedings commenced by Ravana’s car, wooden horses and all, being dragged by men round the inclosure attended by the monkeys. This was apparently a challenge to the enemy; for during the second circumambulation a party of men, dressed in dark blue or black, who had hitherto been kept out of sight, sprang forward to oppose Rama’s progress. These sable warriors were terrible Rakshasas, before whom Rama and his allies had to beat a retreat, pursued by the victors. Before long, however, the tide of battle seemed to turn. Victory changed sides! The Rakshasas retreated, followed by Rama and his people. This alternate success of one party or the other was repeated several times, apparently to prolong the proceedings, and was a most uninteresting and childish exhibition. Whenever Rama was advancing he was carried along discharging feeble arrows that rarely fell beyond the line of men yoked to his car. But when the hero was retreating before the enemy he was generally on foot, probably to obviate the necessity of his turning his back to his foes. At length the demigods made a furious and altogether successful onslaught. The black warriors were supposed to have been completely exterminated. They lay stretched on the field dead and dying for a minute or two, and then, in the most inconsistent manner, got up and squatted on the grass to watch the further proceedings. When Ravana’s forces were thus destroyed, a number offireworks were lighted all over the field. Then the fort of Lanka was given over to the flames, and as it was well-filled with fireworks it made a brilliant display. Next perished Kumbhakarna, similarly in a blaze of rockets, and amidst the thunder of exploding bombs. And last of all, the gigantic Ravana disappeared, by what to any bystander would seem a process of spontaneous combustion. All the time the drama lasted a regimental brass band played European music; so that Rama’s forces may be said to have been animated to the assault of Lanka by the soul-stirring music of European composers.
This was all! Sita the patient, faithful, loving wife was never brought forward. The woman’s part was a quite subordinate one and was left to the imagination of the spectators. The conquering Rama was everything; the long-suffering Sita was forgotten on this occasion. However, the gentle wife of Rama has a place of her own in the affectionate regard of the people of her native land and her history is well remembered. I have seen a picture of the car in which Sita was abducted tattooed on the arm of an ignorant woman of the lower classes, and found on inquiry that she knew the old old story well.
The Ram Lila I have just described was a particularly good example of the annual celebration. Ordinarily, huge figures, stuffed with straw, represent the demons. Rama and Lakshmana, seated on a stage, are carried about on the shoulders of men and, after traversing the ground, hither and thither, without any apparent object, at length set fire to the effigies, whose combustion concludes the play, if such it can be called; whereupon the crowds assembled to see the sport depart in clouds of dust and smoke. Often several sets of demons and Ramas may be seen on the same field, got up by rival parties, by different sections of a city, or by separate villages.
It appears that there is some difficulty in getting boys to personate Rama and his brother on the occasion of the Ram Lila festival, as it is the popular belief that they never live to attain manhood.[48]There is also another, if less superstitious reason for the difficulty in question, and it is this: At the close of the festival Rama and Lakshmana have to feast the Brahmans, and that involves no inconsiderable outlay of money. Hence, in the somewhat lawless border districts on the Indus, it is the usual thing for the sons of well-to-do persons to be actually kidnapped and carried off to play Rama and Lakshmana at the annual festival.
For ten days during the feast they are believed to be literally possessed by the god and are worshipped as Vishnu. But the worship of these boys creates, I was told, a curious and interesting difficulty about the selection of Rama and Lakshmana. The two heroes were men of the warrior caste, and so should their modern representatives be, but, as they have divine honours paid to them during the festival, it would not suit the Brahmans to bow down to and touch the feet of youths of inferior caste, while even personating demigods, and so, in defiance of history,Brahmanyouths are generally selected to represent theKshatriyaheroes in the Ram Lila.
What the Indian artist’s conception of the form and appearance of Rama is, may be partially understood from the statuettes in stone made at the present day and frequently to be met with, at least in Northern India. They are usually sculptured in white marble,but painted (I may say enamelled) jet black, the only unblackened portion being the whites of the eyes. The eyebrows are gilded and so is the loin-cloth ordhoty, which is the only piece of clothing on the person of the god-man. Two big ornaments, shaped like stumpy reels, fill big holes in the lobes of the ears, and make them stick out on either side. On the forehead is the Vishnu caste-mark, the central line in red, and the two side lines, diverging from the top of the nose, in gold. These figures chiselled by the Indian sculptor are always stiff and somewhat conventional.
The Dasahra festival of Northern India is replaced in Bengal by the Durga Puja, and consequently the Bengalees do not perform the Ram Lila; but I remember to have seen, years ago, in Bengal, a large collection of colossal groups of figures representing favourite incidents in the “Mahabharata” and “Ramayana,” prepared at the expense of the Maharajah of Burdwan, to which show, an annual one, I believe, the public were freely admitted. The grotesque forms of the monsters of the Indian epics were reproduced in huge clay statues, variously coloured and clothed. Some, armed with the strange weapons which the poets had imagined, were engaged in deadly combat. Gigantic arrows were conspicuous, and some of them, with the aid of thread supports, were shown in the air on their way to some ill-fated warrior or other. More peaceful scenes were also represented, as where Ravana, in the disguise of a Brahman, visits Sita in the forest. Various holy hermits were also there in all the repulsiveness of dirt and emaciation. The figures were coloured yellow, blue, green, brown, or black, according to the text of the poet, the conventional notions of the people, or the taste and fancy of the artists. Some of these clay statues were decidedly well modelled. They had real hair on their heads, faces and breasts;they were clothed in cotton fabrics, according to the not very elaborate fashions of the country, and, in some cases, were by no means unartistic representations of the men, demons and demigods of the sacred epics of India.