The definitive directorial interpretations of Tagore’s modernist classic in the last 20 years have been Suman Mukhopadhyay’s for Tritiya Sutra and Pradip Bhattacharya’s for the Baharampur unit of West Bengal Correctional Services. For younger viewers who could not experience these, Offbeat Theatre’s production provides an exemplary look at the text that treats it with utmost respect as well as suggests its immediate relevance—in my eyes, the catastrophic consequences of man’s plunder of earth’s material resources, continuing in our land with open-cast or strip mining. Chaiti Ghoshal, who once enacted Nandini for Gautam Haldar, now directs it with the maturity and responsibility that Tagore demands.
She merges tradition and modernity visually. Thus, Debabrata Maity’s scenography alludes to both Sombhu Mitra and Picasso, the Raja’s gateway upstage right referencing Bohurupee’s iconic set, while fragments of Guernica decorate the backdrop. Her own attire also combines; academics debate over the true hue of Nandini’s dhāni sari: paddy green or harvest yellow? Chaiti includes both, along with oleander red (see photo), expressing the colours of life versus Yakshapuri’s barren disaster zone. Soumen Chakraborty’s lighting from the top and back upholds this concept. But when the Raja finally enters, his dazzling golden regalia contradicts his threatening voice; darker armour fits his role better.
Maity, who also designed the costumes, should give the Raja a larger-than-life persona. Most actors of the part fall short of his gigantic image as described by those who have seen him. Likewise, Debesh Roychowdhury’s stature on appearance does not suit his booming tenor heard from the start. Maity must explore a taller headdress, padded shoulders and high heels (like Greek tragedians’ cothurni) to convey his power. The other sartorial mismatch is Chandra (Mitali Ghoshal), one starched sari converting her into too much of a bhadramahilā beside her excavator-husband Phagulal.
Chaiti’s free-spirited Nandini can rally us further by making direct eye contact with specific spectators when she calls out for Anup, Shaklu and Kanku. Of the supporting cast, more about Amit Acharyya (Bishu) later; Partha Mukherjee (Gokul) excels in his virulence towards Nandini; and I compliment Partha Upadhyay, as the Gosain, in resembling Shashi Tharoor the diplomat. But some of the others can definitely improve. Today, the Adhyapak’s attraction to Nandini carries a MeToo edge that Ashok Majumder should exploit. As the Sardar, Jiban Saha’s stiff and right-angled head facing the audience uncritically repeats TV-serial villainous poses.
Directorially, Chaiti must obey two of Tagore’s instructions, subtextual and textual, to the letter. One (not explicit in print but implied), Ranjan’s body must be seen when the Raja opens the doors. Two, the Raja should not dawdle on stage but make a quick exit following Nandini after her final departure.
Last but by no means the least, the music arranged by Debojyoti Mishra features appropriate percussion for our discordant times. Amit Acharyya’s performance as Bishu, singing full-throated and unaccompanied (photo), soars overhead. But I don’t understand why Mishra recorded “Paush toder dāk diyechhe” rather than deliver it live—the villagers don’t have to sing perfectly. And why does he leave out “Bhālobāsi, bhālobāsi”? It would charm if Nandini even hums it to herself, sotto voce.
7 October 2025