Bandar se Raavan tak: A day in the life of Budhana’s Ramleela

Last year, the show made national headlines after Bollywood actor Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who hails from Budhana, dropped of the production following objections by a few members of the Shiv Sena, who said they did not want a Muslim in the Ramleela. A year later, there is no Siddiqui, and the signs of controversy have all but faded.

A little after 5 pm on a Tuesday, with hours to go for the Ramleela to begin, the Chandni Mandir grounds — a small patch of land abutting the temple and circled by haphazardly constructed homes — wears the look of an under-construction site. A labourer is hastily painting the edges of the cemented platform that serves as the stage. A few other workers stretch out new tent cloth over the bamboo and metal scaffolding around the stage. “Monkeys wreak havoc on the tents at night. Look how they have torn everything,” complains Mukesh Kumar, 19, a labourer.

Green carpets, worn-out after “over 20 years of use”, are rolled out on the stage and the ground in front. “Yeh ladies aur bachchon ke liye hai (This is for the women and children to sit on),” says Manoj Tyagi, owner of Laxman Tent House. A row of chairs – “for the VIPs” — are arranged near the stage.

A few metres away, the other elements of tonight’s show are taking shape. A trampoline, on which children can jump for 10 minutes for Rs 10, has been set up. Vendors wheel in food carts — over 15 of them, selling everything from momos to chowmein and chaat. In the midst of all this, children play a game of pakdan-pakdayi (catch-n-catch).

Jagjivan Prasad, 63, the set director, soon walks in. Prasad, who runs a general store in the village, has for 35 years been the man in charge of assembling the set at this Ramleela. He is a tough taskmaster. “I want this done in half an hour,” he tells 22-year-old Monu, a labourer who has to make the roof for a thatched hut on the sets. “The budget for the Ramleela is about Rs 5 lakh and preparations begin about a month-and-a-half in advance,” says Vineet Katyayan, 39, the secretary of the Ramleela committee, who claims to have essayed “almost all roles” in the production — “bandar se Raavan tak (from a monkey to Raavan)”.

The rehearsals begin a month before the show, he says. The actors are expected to learn the dialogues of all the characters, just in case an actor fails to make it on the day of the show. “We send someone to the homes of all the actors every day around 2 pm for the 13-day period and take their attendance,” says Katyayan. Men play the role of women characters as well.

By 8 pm, the temple ground is packed with people. (Amit Mehra)

Katyayan, who also owns a school in the village and is a member of the BJP, has come to the ground for a pre-show recce. On show nights these days, he doubles as a prompter for the actors. “Budhana’s Ramleela is over a hundred years old. None of the people involved has any formal training,” he recounts. “When we were children, the show was performed on the streets… there were no sets, but sometime in the late ’80s, it was moved to the temple.”

Prasad, the set director, pulls out an old copy of the script from his bag. “The original is at least 100 years’ old and was written in Urdu. This one is in the local dialect and we have had this for over 50 years,” he says, thumbing through the frayed pages of the script. “After years of use, most of the lines are no longer legible. I keep writing over them. We also have several photocopies….”

Around 7 pm, the actors begin trickling in and take their places on a mat inside the temple. The make-up artiste is 18-year-old Ashish Tyagi, a BCom final year student. She usually plays Sita, who tonight is not set to go on stage.

It’s 8 pm now and the temple ground is packed with crowds, many of whom have come on tractor trolleys from the neighbouring villages. The women and children are seated on the ground in the front, and the men stand in groups at the back. Over 50 lights, yellow and white, have been tied with jute strings at different angles on bamboo poles. The Muslim families of the neighbourhood have climbed up on their rooftops to watch.

Backstage, inside a small room of the temple, there is a flurry of activity as actors, directors, make-up artistes, “dressers” who help people with costumes, child artistes and labourers holler instructions at each other. Two nine-year-olds, both dressed in red sequined saris, are locked in a heated argument over who gets to play Maa Durga in the opening sequence; and ‘Ganesh’ has just discovered his head gear is too small. Dharmendra aka ‘Vishwamitra’ is not satisfied. “Moochon ki painting aur sharp karo (Make my moustache sharper),” he instructs Tyagi. He then removes his shirt, and asks for pancake to be dabbed on his stomach. “I have to be bare-chested on stage,” he explains. He also gets fistfuls of talcum powder sprayed there as “it gets very sweaty on stage”.

Preparations for the day’s show begin in the evening. (Amit Mehra)

As the clock strikes 8.30 pm, the lights come on, and so do the cheers. An old copy of the Ramayana — cleared of a swarm of ants scrambling across it — is placed in front of the stage. The actors and singers take their position in front of the flex backdrops — a jungle, a palace and the king’s court — that are gleaming under the night sky.
Act 4, ‘Vishwamitra ki maang (demand)’, begins.

At the start are four aartis (prayers), sung by singer-director Rajesh Sharma. The crowd sings along, clapping, swaying their heads.

The loudest cheers are reserved for the demons ‘Marich’ and ‘Subahu’ as they preside over their ‘court’. The crowd applauds as the dialogues get screechier and the actors respond in exaggerated expressions. As the two demons guffaw loudly, one of the children who is part of the demons’ sabha (meeting) pulls out a phone from his kurta and clicks a selfie. It goes unnoticed.

In the next act, as the two demons walk in on a meditating ‘Vishwamitra’, the wires on the floor get entangled in their dhotis. The two men try to ignore it at first and to continue with their lines. But after a few minutes of struggle, ‘Marich’ finally gives up, picks up the wire and puts its aside. The crowd pays no heed to the minor disruption.

Their next challenge is a frog, that has sprung onto the stage. Once again, the actors negotiate their way around it. After hopping on the stage for a few minutes, the frog disappears behind the backdrop.

In between scenes, hired artistes keep the crowds entertained with dances — the only time women get on stage. Claps and whistles fill the air. Most of the men in the audience raise their phones to shoot videos.

In one of the last acts, around 11 pm, when ‘Vishwamitra’ meets ‘Dashrath’ to seek his sons’ help to kill ‘Marich’, there are a few hiccups again — ‘Dashrath’ is to get a bow from a prop-handler, but the latter misses his cue. Then a few actors forget their dialogues and the loud prompting from the back can be heard till the last rows. Many children just walk onto the stage while there is a fight over chairs among some teenagers. But the audience remains glued to the show.

“Ramleela is a part of our culture, we have been seeing and participating in it since we were children. Our children perform here and so will our grandchildren. As long as the show goes on, nothing else matters,” says Dharmendra, calling it a day.