Arts

Shyamon Jayasinghe who played the role of the Potheguru looks back on the groundbreaking performance of Maname in 1956, as he returns to Sri Lanka to celebrate 50 years of that seminal work and to play Potheguru one last time.

It is hard to conceal the feelings of wonder and gratitude that I experience at the thought of going on stage for the fiftieth anniversary performance of Maname. In 1956 on November 3, as a raw young fresher at Peradeniya, I donned the garb of Potheguru and stepped onto the stage at the Lionel Wendt to open the first performance of Maname. Now, at the show to commemorate 50 years of the drama the same man gets to the same stage to perform the same role. Isn’t this beautiful!

My performance this time will be a thansksgiving to the great guru Sarachchandra. I am grateful to Lalitha Sarachchandra for giving me this privilege. I also wish to announce that this will be my last in Maname. One thing an actor learns is when to enter and when to exit. This landmark is the time to exit, especially when I am still fit to play well.

Nevertheless, a caveat: Taking a theme from Joseph Conrad in his tale ‘The Shadow Line’ I have long since crossed the shadow line of youthful ebullience and left the enchanted isle of ‘sunshine, and endless possibilities’. My performance is best remembered as a product of that ‘region of early youth’, which I have left behind. The same audience will now see me with a difference. This is the beauty of theatre: A drama is something new with each presentation. “As the actor moves and speaks, it is each time as if for the first time” (Robert Corrigan).

The memory of the night of half a century ago at the Lionel Wendt is vivid and full of fragrance. It was simply an innocent collective enjoyment that we experienced. To me and our team of actors and organizers, it meant simply the culmination of a six-month period of sheer fun and camaraderie in rehearsing the play - nothing more. Despite the exultant praise of the very small but distinguished first audience of scholars, journalists, and critics who gathered that night, it didn’t occur to any of us that we had placed our own humble footprints in the sands of time.

The late Reggie Siriwardena was the first to announce in his review to the Ceylon Daily News that something very special had happened that night. The late Sri Chandraratne Manawasinghe, legendary editor of the Lankadeepa and one-time critic of what was labelled as the ‘Peradeniya School’ used a specially coined term to describe Maname. He called it an ‘Abhiranganaya’ (meaning a unique genre in the performance art). Reggie Siriwardena’s review set in motion a stream of English audiences while Manawasinghe’s was the impetus for Sinhala audiences to begin streaming in. Word of mouth did the rest and Maname has since been performed almost continuously for fifty years!

I recall that Professor Ediriweera Sarachchandra sensed something far more significant than anyone of us did that night. Soon after the show, we adjourned to Lion House, Bambalapitiya, for a celebration dinner. Lion House had become the loitering ground of intellectuals, political leftwingers, and the avant-garde of the arts. The Professor who had been beaming after the show, now after a few beers (his favourite drink), became articulate. It was an ‘eureka feeling’ that he exuded; a realization of having arrived at his destination after a long search for an indigenous form of theatre for our country. Sarachchandra saw and studied a lot of theatre in India, Japan, Europe, and the US. He also trekked through rural villages and towns in Lanka producing invaluable research in traditional folk dramatic forms. The incubation period that brought out Maname had indeed been great.

I knew Sarachchandra, scholar and sage, as someone who was totally engrossed with the object of his creation like a craftsman of yesteryear. Like the stereotypical Zen calligrapher, he was lost in total absorption experiencing a state of “no-mind” (Sunya) - all mind being focused on the object. The resultant neglect of material and familial considerations imperative in a mundane world brought forth personal tragedies in his life, which we were witness to.
The uncanny feeling that early audience experienced when seeing Maname is not difficult to explain: Maname conjured up a special world that these audiences hadn’t seen before. Players looking larger than life in unusual costumes and distinctive make-up, walking the stage in a mild dance-like manner (the gamana), talking the language in an unfamiliar way, and telling a story in melody, rhythm, and drum - all beautifully integrated. Strangers though, these were normal men and women telling a tale about normal humans. The story set in an historical context had little to do with history itself because the author’s intention was to deal with real men and women of any given time.

The stylistic format helped create a theatrical illusion and was deeply attractive to first-time audiences. What distinguished Sarachchandra’s Maname, however, were not so much the externalities of technique as some would have it but the artist’s insight. Maname told an old tale in a very special way in order to try and unveil the mystery of the human experience. The central plot was built around the three-cornered relationship of the prince, the Veddah King, and the princess. The sudden intrusion of the Veddah king disrupted the stable and predefined lives of the new couple and sparked the crisis. The fragility of human character, of human relationships, and indeed of human life itself is the dominant undertone in Maname. This perennial relevance to the human condition does probably guarantee an all-time appeal for the play.

However, less perceptive audiences view Maname on a rather naïve plane. We experienced occasions when people in the audience openly demonstrated their anger at the princess whom they perceived as fickle, wily and treacherous. When she was abandoned by the Veddah king, there was huge applause. This way of looking at the play is likely to persist in the popular mind, which has been conditioned by the male-chauvinistic society that Sri Lanka is.

The source of the plot, which is widely familiar, has also a lot to do with such a perception. While Sanda Kinduru Jathakaya was about female fidelity, Chulla Danuddhara Jathakaya, the original source of the plot in Maname, was about female infidelity. In the Jathaka story, the woman is naturally an object of censure. The Maname Kavi Nadagama that followed the Jathaka story was an unmitigated abuse of the princess. However, the Maname of Sarchchandra had no interest in the infidelity issue, which in any case ceased to be sacrosanct. A more sophisticated and compassionate version of the character is more in line with the reality of a woman’s psyche. The princess of Sarachchandra is seen to confront a complex and totally unexpected situation and her particular response is left open to different perceptions. Had she really been treacherous? Did she give the sword to the Veddah or was the sword taken? Was she lured by the sexuality of the Veddah or did she merely rationalize her need for protection by the latter in the midst of a lonely and capricious forest? Were many of these elements mixed? Humans are flawed and frail and they do things that are stupid. I sang the following: “Hane eh vipatha siduvuni.

Nodanimi kage dosa” (Oh! What tragedy did come to pass! Whose fault it is I know not)

This fresh and intriguing insight infused into a prosaic Jathaka tale and delivered through a total theatrical experience helped lift the play to achieve an enduring place in history.

Fortune did let me herald this historical moment. To me, a sudden illumination gave the clue. The curtain opened to the classic drumbeat of Charles Silva Gunasinghe Gurunannse. The spotlight of the late Mahinda Dias beckoned me to step in. The twenty-year-old youngster that I was, I was nervous having never drawn anybody’s attention before. What was worse, I had no conception of my role whatever. Sarachchandra himself has remarked that he had no idea how the Pothegurananse (narrator) should perform although the roles of other players appeared clear. He was content if I were to sing the verses (innisaya) and position myself with the chorus. This is what in fact I did all along during rehearsals. “What a boring task,” I kept thinking to myself.

However, the spirit of the opening night suddenly gripped me and my personal enjoyment of the situation imperceptibly and rather involuntarily translated itself into a more positive dramatic role - that of beckoning the audience to enjoy the play with me. I turned into a kind of compere or conductor of the play. An instant rapport developed, which I never expected. I knew instantly that I had pressed the right buttons.

Professor Sarachchandra has remarked in his ‘autobiography’ that what he had witnessed that night was a miraculous transformation in me. Besides the use of body language, I particularly enjoyed the manipulation of vocal expression. I used variations in intensity and reflection of voice to my advantage. I later realized that the moment a narrator of this kind of play stands before an audience he gets invested with some authority or legitimacy before the audience. I believe that the narrator must build on that acceptance and carry the audience with him. These elements transformed the role of the Pothegurunanse from a mere singer who routinely and formally introduces actors to that of a performer who enhances audience enjoyment.

At the beginning, both Hemamali Gunasekera (later Gunasinghe) and Trilicia Abeykoon (later Gunawardena) took turns to play Maname princess. Both these players were exceptionally good. Hemamali had particularly attractive natural looks while Trilicia stood out with her superb singing. Tricilia stayed on to do many many performances while Hemamali soon took off to Canada with Dr. Siri Gunasinghe.

Ben Sirimanne had a regal and resplendent voice ideally suited for the role of Prince. However, he was a bit oversensitive about the press having not given him his due. It was unfortunate because he was such a great player. The reason had little to do with his acting and more with the nature of his character, which was rather too staid to attract special attention.

Contrary had been the characterization of the Veddah King who had a most attractive role to play and spicy dialogue to articulate. More than all the characters in Maname, the attention on Edmund Wijesinghe who played the role of the Veddah King remained in the minds of successive audiences in a sustained way. For one thing, he stood for the hero who delivered poetic justice to the “treacherous and loathsome woman”. Edmund grabbed his role and played it with such enormous punch and power, the like of which I have never seen after that.

Ben, Edmund and Trilicia are dead. Siri Gunasinghe’s costume and make-up design has stood the test of time with virtually no change having been made over the last half century. The attire of the Veddahs was especially striking. Lionel Fernando played the complementary role of Vedi Detu with great competence. Other Veddahs were M.B. Adikaram, Karunadasa Weerasinghe, D.B. Herat and Karunadasa Gunaratne. Karunadasa is no more. These other Veddahs also doubled up with Edmund as the students of Taxila while Edmund sang “Udula Karawana” beautifully as the Master of Taxila. Vasantha Kumar, who had a full head of white hair even then conceived and trained the Veddah choreography.

The crucial instrument of the nadagama is the drum we call Maddale. The maddale virtually controls the flow of the drama and it was handled with rare finesse by Charles Silva Gunasinghe Gurunannse, the veteran nadagam maestro. Sarachchandra picked this artist to assist him in producing the play and has been lavish in praising him. ‘Gurunannse’ as he was affectionately called by all of us, came from Ampe, Balapitiya to temporarily reside with the Sarachchandra family at Sanghamitta Hill during production. He advised the Professor in the selection of melody and trained the actors and orchestra in rendering the complex music of the nadagam repertoire. He also demonstrated the dance steps and the gamana. When I visited his home in Ampe one day, I saw my photograph hanging above the main doorframe! I was touched and humbled by the realization that Gurunannse had a special place in his heart for me and was unspoken about that. Other members of the orchestra were Somaratne Edirisinghe (flute) Hemapala Wijewardena (the aduthaal maddale), H.L. Seneviratne (sitar), Kitsiri Amaratunge (sarpina), L.R. Mudalihamy and Ramya Tumpela (Esraj). The constant inspiration for the orchestra was the presence of Ediriweera Sarachchandra himself who enjoyed playing the tempura. Something very special about the Professor was his musical knowledge. I recall how in later days, he sat along with Amaradeva in the composition of music for his play Loma Hansa.

Nothing can be overstated with regard to Charles Silva Gunasinghe Gurunanse. He was such a marvel and one would find the entire play reflected on his visage while he sat on the side playing the drum. With ‘Gurunannse’ the drum spoke in a way it never did after his demise.

The chorus is a distinctive structural feature in Maname. Seating them on stage while the actors played was something new that Sarachchandra introduced. Here, he was influenced by Japanese Kabuki. Sri Chandraratne Manawasinghe interestingly saw the influence of our own bali thovil here where the audience join in the singing. Indrani Peiris (later Wijesinghe), Trixie De Silva, Swarna Mahipala, Nanda Abeywickrema, Daya Jayasundra, G.W. Sathischandra and Pastor Peiris adorned the original Maname chorus. Trixie is no more.

My regularity in Maname ended when I joined the Sri Lanka Administrative Service in 1961 to work in the outstations. However, I never lost contact as I continued to perform occasionally. It was in the year 1993 that I performed during the life of Sarachchandra for the last time. That was before departing from Sri Lanka to make Australia my adopted home.

In 2004 I played again at the Namel-Malini Punchi Theatre for a special show commemorating Sarachchandra’s ninetieth birth anniversary. The fact that I had kept in touch with the play enabled me to get on stage with successive younger generations who took over from the original cast. That was an invigorating experience, although I missed the camaraderie of my old colleagues.

No account of Maname is complete without mention of the original organizers, namely Arthur Silva, Wimal Nawagamuwa and K.A.D. Perera. These men worked tirelessly to get the play on board. I remember the late Eileen Sarachchandra who was intimately involved in the original production. Eileen, the Professor’s first wife, was an able actor in her own right and a great make-up artist. She was a charming lady with a mischievous smile. However, I might add that it was the entry of Lalitha, the professor’s second wife, that had made Maname and in fact all Sarachchandra’s dramas financially viable. A talented artist herself and engaging personality, Lalitha also had the marketing skills required to take the plays widely before the people.