A popular notion circulates about Partition literature, that Punjab has received more extensive treatment than Bengal. This stems from the fact that not enough translations exist of the Bengali literature on the subject. In recent times, Sunanda Sikdar wrote an award-winning book, Dayāmayir Kathā, based on her childhood memories in East Pakistan; luckily, those who cannot read Bengali can access Anchita Ghatak’s fine English translation. Or they can see Kalyani Natyacharcha Kendra’s dramatization of it.
Kishore Sengupta has directed it very unusually, not converting it into a standard play but simply letting Sikdar’s poignant narrative speak for itself. The dozen actors sit on two sides and rise in turns to deliver the selected excerpts in appropriate dialect, none of them identifiably in Dayamayi’s character, and keeping theatricalization to a minimum. This style may take a while to adjust to, for it challenges the audience to shelve conventional dramatic expectations, but it prioritizes Sikdar’s limpid language and does not fall into the cliches of representing traumatic violence. More importantly, it does not require a stage – KNK has performed it mostly in small halls, even rooms, to understandably greater impact.
The little Hindu girl in the care of a Muslim sharecropping retainer wonders at the regular departures of villagers to Hindustan. And she wants to know from him what he prays for to Allah every day. He tells her that he asks for the welfare of all people, all animals, all plants. Humanity’s relationship with nature that we have forgotten comes to the fore in Dayāmayir Kathā, besides our relationship with fellow humans regardless of race and religion, the neighbourliness of the community as a whole. Some examples to suffice: a relative thanks the trees for giving us fruits all their life; cows are part of the family, we can never sell them; an aunt loves travelling across the country by train, totally dependent on strangers’ goodwill; a Muslim neighbour respects the Rāmāyana because Sita comes from the soil, just like everything the earth gifts us.
Sengupta can afford to include more such episodes, extending the production by another 15 minutes or so. And he should delete the collaborative painting, a now common device that ultimately does not add anything of consequence. But don’t miss Dayāmayir Kathā – unless you don’t like shedding tears in public.
(From The Times of India, 6 September 2019)