(This article by Swaati Chattopadhyay was first published in First City August 2005. Copyright First City August 2005)

Surendra Nath Jena talks to FC2 about the meethapan of dance, that is a form of meditation as much as a means to express the spontaneity of everyday life…

Swaati Chattopadhyay

"When I was very young, someone advised me to visit goddess Jhankateshwari (a form of goddess Saraswati), saying 'she will grant you vidya (wisdom)'. The temple was about 40 to 50 kms from my village. My mother was very poor, she could not give me much money for the journey. On my way, I begged for food and a place to sleep. I filled my stomach with water so that I wouldn't feel hungry, and kept walking through the day. After 3 or 4 days, I reached there. When I entered the temple, and saw the devi's idol, I felt as if she was telling me, 'I have already given you my vidya, what have you come all this way for? Go away'. After that day, with that assurance from the goddess, I began my creative journey," Surendra Nath Jena recounts the unusual experience that gave him the conviction to dance his own dance, that is hued by the rich textures and colours of his personal experiences of Orissa. Influenced by his understanding and intensive study of temple sculpture, patachitra painting, talapatra (palm leaf) literature and ancient texts, his style of Odissi has a dynamic quality, that also reflects his child-like demeanour, quirky sense of humour and a deep sense of devotion.

As a child, he had been more fascinated in the colourful jatra (folk theatre) performances - his mother was an avid viewer and would take him along - than in studies (bahut pitai hota tha, school nahi jate thay). As a nine-year-old, he began training with a jatra troupe and touring the villages of Orissa. He recalls the initiation, in broken Hindi, drenched with sing-song Oriya inflections, “I didn't have any money; I didn't know where to begin. Someone had gifted me a Parker pen. I sold it for six annas, and with that money, went to Cuttack. There I met a man who was a member of a jatra party. He took me to his village, and I joined the jatra party and toured so many villages.” For almost 30 years, he led the lifestyle of a jatra performer, where dance and theatre was a way of life, and the only purpose of performance was devotional - to spread the name of god by recreating myriad mythological stories for village audiences. These years enabled him to give free rein to explore the stories he enacted, to dip into them without being restrained by the structure of dance. Jatra also had an immense influence on his style of abhinaya, which till date, has remained non-stylised and true to the naturalness and everydayness of life. After this experience, he went on to learn the contrasting, highly sophisticated classical dance of Kathakali in Calcutta. It was only in his late thirties, that he began learning Odissi recreated from the testimony of devadasis, at the Kala Vikas Kendra, Cuttack. This is where he discovered the connections between folk and classical, “I found that it was the same as the jatra I had learnt all these years; it had now been put in a format - number one, number two,” he demonstrates. But it failed to make an impact on him, because even though he danced, it didn’t make him feel anything, “I learnt it, par us vidya se mere mann mein kuchh ghusa nahi (It didn't enter my heart). It was so halka (light),” he explains.

The urge to create dance that is imbued with feeling, overtook him when he visited the Konark temple. This was the first time he'd seen a temple in Orissa, " Main pehli baar jab Konark dekha, main dekhta reh gaya (When I saw Konark for the first time, I was spellbound)", he recreates, with complete involvement, that moment of surrender to the beauty of the sculptures around him, "Sab chitra mera mann mein bann gaya (All those images were mapped onto my mind). Dalmalika, Alasya kanya," he impersonates the sculptures of nature goddesses in their various poses, “…I emptied all those images into my dance.” His first composition, Konark Kanti, dedicated to Surya, the sun god, was created from these photographs recollected from memory, depicting sculpture in motion. He realised that these sculptures essentially reflected the relationship between man and nature, and Konark Kanti, like his other compositions, reflects both - these postures, and the spontaneity of everyday life. In a similar vein, his dance style weaves in both, the tandav (masculine and vigorous) and lasya (graceful and feminine) elements, and is marked by rapid changes in rhythm, movement and emotion, echoing the many ups and downs of life. He is of the opinion that the temple sculptor's stone etchings were inspired by an exploration of life's different moods, “At the time, the shilpkaar (sculptor) was a man of culture, he was a student of all the arts - music, dance, art. With the knowledge of all this, he sculpted his bhawna (feelings) on the temple walls. Yeh bhawna jaise hai na,” he imitates my chin-propped-on-palm pose, woh murti mein daal diya (he cast it in sculpture). Lok jeevan hai, sab (It's all extracted from everyday life). Bharat Muni, who wrote Natyashastra, was not from heaven; he lived a normal life in this world. All his writings have been drawn from that.” Classical dance was a distillation of the same expansive source, “It was all lok jeevan at that time. Then, Bharata Muni came, and he organised it in a specific manner; raag tala, mein sab baandh diya, and made it shastriya (He bound it in music and rhythm, and made it classical). That is how it was developed."

Drawing from the varied experiences of lok jeevan, Surendra Nath Jena made an attempt at being true to the bhaav of each rasa, even if it was a disturbing one like bhayanak (fear), or bibhatsa (repulsive), because each rasa, has its appropriate place in life, where situations can evoke bitterness, maddening rage or disgust. These rasas have been evoked in the depiction of divine stories too. His composition, Shiv Tandava, shows Shiva dancing in the graveyard in his most ferocious and repugnant appearance, with demons and ghosts as attendants, "Woh Shiva ka character hai. He wears the tree's bark, puts ash on his body, bhoot pret are his companions. He wears a garland of skulls around his neck and does the tandav in the graveyard. So, when you show Shiva, you have to show him in his element. The dance has to be true to that. How can I make it pretty if it isn't?" Nindati Chandana, his composition based on the Geet Govinda, takes bhaav a step further than the nine rasas, by depicting asht satvik bhaav as mentioned in the Natyashastra, but rarely used in abhinaya. "It is not for performance, it's for one's own sadhana. Rasa is outwardly, but ashtasatvik is internal. It cannot be performed, can only be experienced." He illustrates each one of these emotions, "Stambha, is when you are stunned by the vision of god, there is no reaction - you are not just looking stunned, you are experiencing that. Sved, is when that vision produces immense heat within the body, you actually start sweating. Romanch, is when this excitement runs through your body in waves, giving you goose pimples. Swara bhanga - god's beauty is so overwhelming, that one cannot speak, one has no words. Bapath is when you lose track, you don't know where to go, which path to take. Vivarna – the colour of your face changes. Ashru, is when these overwhelming emotions result in tears. And then there is Pralay, when your soul is churned and a transformation takes place."

Such emotion enables dance to communicate in a primitive, intimate way that distinguishes it from other forms of artistic expression, he feels, "Ek baat batao, jab manushya shristi hua, tab baat karna aata tha? Nahi (When man was born, did he know how to speak? No). I don't know English, but when I went abroad, I communicated with my students through abhinaya, through hand gestures like idhar aao ab jaao. Dance has the same language. Bhasha (language) evolved much after bhaav (emotion). All art is inspired by real life, whether it is dance, theatre or cinema. It assumes a different language with each art form, and within that, in each region of the country, jaise log ka kapda alag alag ho jata hai. Bha-Ra-Ta, is just Bhaav-Raag-Tala. These three bind it."

With child-like simplicity, he talks of that which gives him the stimulus to create dance, Prerna? Woh deta hai. (Inspiration? God gives it to me). "It is not just mine, it is everybody's. If you want to be one with god, he will facilitate that. When I would dance, I would be worshipping my god, and I could feel all the emotions connected to him. If it was about Shiva, I would concentrate on him, and I could see his roop, I had darshan. And then he would grant me the bhaav; it comes from him." Being honest to one's dance is most important to him, "If you dance with ananda (joy), everybody will feel that bliss. Dance is like meditation, where you must first purify your body first by correcting your asana (posture) and dance. Phir mann shudhi, phir atma shuddhi (Then follows the purification of the heart and then, the soul). Unless the aatma (soul) is shudh (pure), god will not dance through you. And once you start dancing for god, with god, then you don't care about anything else. When you perform, there is a sense of the audience in the beginning. But once you are drowned in god, that disappears. It's only for god. And it takes a long time to achieve that, several years of practice – nach kari, kari, kari, kari, kari."

Before I can ask my next question, he interrupts, "Dance ka meethapan abhi mila nahi hai tere ko (you haven't received the sweetness of dance), that's why you're asking so many questions! I have tasted the meetha (sweetness) of dance, and given the chhilka to my disciples! Jab madhu mil jata hai, to pagal ho jata hai, naach nahi chhod sakte (One you've tasted that honey-like sweetness, it drives you insane, and you cannot disengage yourself from dance). It purifies your body, mind and soul."