When dance breaks geographical boundaries

The magic of the ballet “Samhara” in 2012

There’s an indescribable allure of an empty stage. Audiences are hushed by the dimming of the lights, shuffles are heard at the side of the stage as the performers get ready to alight, their ankle bells chime gently as they compose themselves. The pregnant pause before the music begins is nothing less than magic, akin to the butterflies you feel in a movie theatre when it has gone dark. Once the music drones in, the lights come on, and you see dancers on stage undulating their bodies to the music, you are sold. And sometimes, If you are lucky, those moments get caught on camera. Dance on Film is an attempt to archive and collect those moments of magic that have been caught by the camera.

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With the backdrop of the significant Konark Temple in 2012, five women took to the stage to present a confluence of cultures. Nrityagram and Chitrasena Dance Company’s Samhara is a collaborative work between Odissi and Kandyan dance. The ballet has since been retired. Known by the people of Bangalore as a place for quiet escape, Nrityagram’s reputation precedes itself as a dance village dedicated to the development and growth of the Odissi dance form. Her dancers are known for their strength, perfection and immersion. Down further south, in Sri Lanka, the Chitrasena Dance Company nurtures and moulds aspiring dancers into the joyful expression of Kandyan Dance. Their legacy rests with Chitrasena, a ballerino that transformed Kandyan dance from a ritual practice to a visual spectacle on the proscenium stage.

The number of times I have watched Samhara, in person and on the screen, is uncountable. No matter how many times I watch it, I want to watch it again.

On that day in 2012, in Konark, Samhara took to the stage with the original architects of the piece. It began with paying obeisance to the presiding deity of Odissi, Lord Jagannath. An invocation followed as all three Odissi dancers painted motifs of Hindu mythology on stage. As the music drones out, a distinct chiming could be heard; the bells on the ankles of the Kandyan dancers. Together, the two groups of women explored varying contexts and stories; a game of dice, a display of animals, a play of rhythm, each took to the stage separately and together. The undulating torso of Odissi in contrast with the bounce of the Kandyan form was a buffet for the artistic mind. With their movements they conquered both the land and the sky.

Kandyan dance initially only had male dancers dancing it. It embodies, in its movement patterns and stances, more masculine energy. But the work of Vajira Chitrasena as one of the most successful female dancers in the field, set the stage for future generations. At Konark, her granddaughter performed, representing the third generation of her family to practice Kandyan dance. Their long limbs, toned bodies and phenomenal energy translates through the screen. There’s a sense of freedom you feel as you watch these beautiful women glide across the stage with such control and power.

Having been a practitioner of Indian classical forms, I am very rarely overwhelmed by just the visual of dance. I am more drawn to the masterful execution of the details, the interplay of music, the fascinating creative choices which I suppose can only come from being close to it. However, every time I watch the dancers of the Chitrasena Company on stage, I sit outside my dancing body and view them simply as a spectator. Had I been in Indra’s court, these are the dancing angels I would see, I am convinced of it.

As choreographers Surupa Sen and Heshma Wignaraja have mentioned on countless occasions, the production is a conversation between two indigenous dance traditions, it is not fusion. Interestingly enough, by having just cursory glances into the dance traditions of South and Southeast Asia, there is an undeniable connection between them all. While we might speak different languages and over time, developed different aesthetic sensibilities, our movements don’t lie. Watching Odissi, Kandyan dance, Cambodian dance and even Thai dance, one realises that these forms are all venn diagrams that overlap each other. Their histories are all tangled up. They had to have been having conversations from long before cameras existed. There is much to explore here.

This recording of Samhara is a moment caught in time. On one level it is a phenomenally crafted collaboration between two different choreographers, two different dance forms and two different aesthetics that can no longer be seen on stage. But when looked at from the lens of history, it has such great significance. And the presence of the camera makes it even more impactful. As many dance scholars have noted, the lack of visual evidence of dance traditions is often what makes research in this discipline so difficult. It leaves researchers with only possibilities and no real evidence. Dance history has been constructed from various people’s writings, descriptions and oral retellings of the stories (and not to forget the muscle memory of the dancers themselves.) Had there been a camera in 19th century Odisha, would the Odissi we do today look the same? One wonders.

While watching Samhara for the nth time, it is only now that I realise the importance this moment holds. The confluence of cultures is a nice term, no doubt, but the depth of the conversation happening here breaks so many boundaries we have drawn; geographic, aesthetic, egoistic. Collaborations like these often raise questions about purity and tradition. Can you say that what you saw on stage was not Odissi or not Kandyan? Were you unable to see the roots of the two forms? Is it not because of the depth of the tradition that new work can be created from them?

Samhara continues to be one of the best ballets coming out of the subcontinent and though it has been retired, this video of it has made sure its spirit lives on. (I am still humming its tunes.)

You can watch the performance here: