What Shivaji Saw

In the world of Tamil cinema, even with its outsized celebrity star system, Shivaji Ganesan stands tall in any telling of its history. Modern actors and directors speak reverentially of his acting abilities and dominant screen presence, while older viewers wax nostalgic about his swagger and style, his ability to project anger, joy and melancholy in a way that touched the audience and left a lasting impact. Most of all though, the great thespian was known for his ability to deliver long monologues in pristine Tamil, stacking blocks of words one upon the other, perfectly playing the poetic rhythms of the language, leaving the listeners breathless.

This story, however, is not really about what that great actor saw, though he does have a significant connection with how I came to the story. So let’s get to the story of that connection first – a well known tale of how a stage name was acquired …

The year is 1945, at the height of a period of great ferment in the politics of the region, and just a year after the founding of the Dravidar Kazhagam, the precursor to the DMK and AIADMK parties that would dominate the politics of the state of Tamil Nadu later in the century. The Dravidian movement, and its precursor, the Justice Party had already separated themselves from the Congress Party and the struggle for independence from the British. They represented the indigenous Tamil people, fiercely proud of their storied history and the ancient Tamil language, and determined to assert their independence from ‘Northern’ aggression. Their fight was against the oppressors closer to home – the upper castes and the rigid caste hierarchy that had dominated Indian society for centuries. The DK was an explicitly atheistic party, and its most prominent rising star was C.N.Annadurai, reputed to be the greatest orator of his time, who clearly saw the Brahmins, and Brahminism as the greatest evil that needed to be confronted and defeated.

The leaders of the Dravidian movement were also stalwarts of the Tamil stage and screen, and these were already a vehicle for their political propaganda. Annadurai was a successful playwright, who skillfully wove in the social themes highlighting the evils of the caste system into stories from history and mythology. A new play, based on events in the life of the great Maratha King Shivaji, titled ‘Shivaji Kanda Hindu Rajyam’ (The Hindu Kingdom that Shivaji Saw) was set to be staged in just seven days. The leading man, M.G.Ramachandran, who later became a major figure in the politics of the region, and at that time already a major film star, had suddenly pulled out of the play. A new actor had to be found for the title role, and that would have to be someone who could quickly learn the complex dialogues and deliver them on stage. The surprising answer to the dilemma came in the form of a 17-year-old actor, the young Ganesan who already knew all the dialogues for the part! The rest, in the words of the cliché, is history. Following the success of the play, at a public meeting, the patriarch of the Dravidian movement, the man respectfully referred to as ‘Thanthai’ (Father) Periyar, bestowed on him the stage name by which he would be known forever – ‘Shivaji’ Ganesan.

Much of this, of course, has been told and retold – and almost anyone with more than a passing interest in Tamil cinema is aware of the broad details of this bit of lore. The subject of this essay is to address a different aspect of this legend, and take a look, not at the actor who played the role, but at the play itself. What exactly is this play – ‘The Hindu Kingdom that Shivaji Saw’? Why is C.N.Annadurai writing a play about a king in a region far to the north of Tamil country, when there was so much material to be plumbed in the rich history of South India? What was the ‘message’ – for there was always a message in his plays and stories – that he wanted to convey to the Tamil people, by telling a story about a king who fought a guerrilla war against his former overlords in the 18^th century, and established an independent kingdom by defeating the forces of the mighty Mughal Empire?

I decided to read the play, in the original Tamil, and was surprised to immediately find it in the Kindle bookstore for just 99 cents. I really did not know what to expect from the reading, but I must confess to having some preconceived notions of what the play would be about. I had grown up watching Shivaji Ganesan perform several kingly roles on screen – the majestic Veera Pandiya Katta Bomman, and the immortal Karnan were just two of the first few roles that I remembered. Therefore, it seemed obvious that this would be some depiction of the great King Shivaji, in all his regal glory, as he set about vanquishing the Mughal forces. The other expectation had to do with the peculiar phrase in the title – ‘Hindu Rajyam’ – literally, Hindu Kingdom – with its allusions to the phrase that has now become part of the conversation – the ‘Hindu Rashtra’ of the current day. I expected, therefore, that this would be some denunciation, or at least a negative reference to a purely communal / religious view of what Shivaji’s role in history represented, as a Hindu King who opposed the Muslim emperor. Upon reading the play, I was pleasantly surprised, and perhaps a bit chastened that I had allowed these preconceived notions to become part of my thinking, because there was almost nothing in the play that had anything to do with my preconceived notions.

The first hint of what this play is about actually becomes visible on the cover page of the Kindle edition – something that I noticed only after I was already a third of the way into reading the play. This work actually has a second title – placed in parentheses after the main title. On the first page of the Kindle book, those titles are in fact reversed – the name of the play, in boldface, reads – CHANDRAMOHAN, and below that, in smaller type, Shivaji Kanda Hindu Rajyam. Let’s leave that tantalizing clue for a bit, and get into the play itself.

The first two scenes in the play – the first of 29 scenes, because there is no division into acts in this play – dives straight into the polemic mode that would be expected from Annadurai. These scenes describe what would have been a familiar situation of caste oppression, where two Brahmins, Keshava Bhattar and Balachandra Bhattar, are mercilessly beating a lower caste man, Pacchai, for befouling the village pond by bathing in it. In the second scene, Pacchai and Aandi bemoan their long history of oppression by the Brahmins, alternately indignant and resigned to their fate and their treatment as untouchables by the upper castes. A ‘sadhu’ enters the scene, and gives them hope – a great warrior, Shivaji, promises a new era of freedom and equality, by his amazing feats of valor and conquest, fighting for the sons of the soil against the foreign invader.

We are introduced to some of the major characters in the next few scenes. Chandramohan, a warrior in Shivaji’s army, is reunited with his beloved, Indumathi, after a long campaign. But he faces stiff opposition from Shantaji, Indumathi’s father, who is withholding his assent to their marriage until Chandramohan hangs up his sword and quits fighting. Indu too, is just as firmly opposed to letting her future husband go to war – she cannot bear the thought of him being in mortal danger and living in anticipation of bad news every day. Chandramohan, however, is an idealist – he firmly believes in the new world that Shivaji is building, and is willing to lay his life on the line for the pride and glory of the Maratha kingdom. When he is told that there is opposition to Shivaji internally – that many in the ruling establishment are still hesitant to follow Shivaji because of his lower caste origin, he repudiates that, and believes that a new world order will erase these caste distinctions.

The title character, Shivaji, is introduced only in Scene 8, and his entrance isn’t really a grand one. The scene starts with a dispute between Chitnis, the chief minister, and several Sardars – generals in the army, who object to their inferior seating position in the court, and refuse to pay obeisance to Shivaji. This is the first place where Shivaji is explicitly referred to as a ‘Shudra’ – a member of the lowest caste in the hierarchy.  Chitnis implores the Sardars to relent and acknowledge the glorious victories that Shivaji’s leadership has brought them, but they are adamant and stomp off in indignation. The great warrior, Shivaji, is shown entering backstage, sadly listening to the argument without objection. Chitnis then fumes to Shivaji on the gross injustice and disrespect shown to him, and suggests that the only way to set this right would be for Shivaji to crown himself King, so that he can command the respect of all the inhabitants in the kingdom, from the highest born to common man. Shivaji agrees, and asks him to proceed with the arrangements.

The next several scenes are the unfolding of the main plot of the story. The Brahmins of the land are outraged and infuriated at the audacity and effrontery of Shivaji, and his aspiration to be crowned King. They affirm that their age-old scriptures decree that only those belonging to the Kshatriya caste can assume royal titles. They predict that this will endanger all inhabitants and bring down the wrath of the gods, if such a gross violation of the code of dharma is allowed to occur. Chitnis, Shivaji’s minister attempts to find a way out, and sends some of the same Brahmins who are opposing his plan for the coronation to Banares, the seat of the religious elite, to enlist the support of Gaga Bhattar, who is an authority on the scriptures. Gaga Bhattar emerges as the main antagonist of the play – he is cast as the arch villain, full of arrogance and pride. He teaches his disciples that even though the Brahmins live on the alms given by the community, their innate superiority makes them supreme. He proudly proclaims that even the greatest of kings has to kneel in front of the learned Brahmin, because of their divinely ordained position of primacy. 

Gaga Bhattar agrees to come to the Maratha capital and find a way for Shivaji to be crowned as per the scriptures. He is welcomed with great pomp and ceremony by Chitnis, and even after his initial agreement to help Shivaji, he vacillates and is almost swayed by the other Brahmin elites in Shivaji’s court who are still opposed to a shudra assuming royal titles that only kshatriyas should aspire to. After much debate and declamation, he agrees to perform the rituals that will allow Shivaji to become a Kshatriya. Shivaji’s role in these scenes is very minor – he is depicted as meekly agreeing to all of Gaga Bhattar’s demands, agreeing to present the Brahmin priests with large amounts of gold and silver, endow their temples with enormous amounts of money and essentially buy himself into the kingly caste. The lone objector in the court is his loyal soldier, Chandramohan. He rails at the corruption of the Brahmins, and Gaga Bhattar’s greed, and tries to make Shivaji see the hypocrisy in his actions. Wasn’t Shivaji creating the new world, where the brave Marathas had fought and liberated the land from the foreign invader, where all would be equal and free from the tyranny of those who claimed superiority by birth? Shivaji first listens to him patiently, but is soon persuaded by his other courtiers – the best way for him to establish his authority is to be crowned as King, and if he needs to appease the Brahmins and perform their rituals to become a Kshatriya, expediency and statecraft demands that he do that. Chandramohan is summarily dismissed from the court and barred from ever entering it again.

The story of Shivaji’s origins as a shudra, and his elevation as a Kshatriya is well founded in history. Although it has been obscured by the deification that his personality has undergone in recent years, historians have described the events surrounding his coronation quite extensively. That Annadurai was comfortable writing about this in the 1940s indicates perhaps, that the story was better known in those times. The events in Annadurai’s play substantially corresponds to historians’ account of Shivaji’s coronation, in ceremonies that lasted weeks and included rites where he ‘reclaimed’ his kshatriya ancestry based on an invented lineage connecting him to the Sisodiya Rajputs, in a ritual devised by Gagabhatta of Benares. 

Shivaji Kanda Hindu Rajyam, or Chandramohan, if we use the play’s alternate title, is remarkable in several aspects. As I mentioned earlier, it was a surprise to me that the protagonist of the play was not Shivaji, but Chandramohan. I had, perhaps been too influenced by the romantic wonder of how that iconic stage name was acquired by Shivaji Ganesan. In the play itself, the character of Shivaji doesn’t do much, and has relatively few spoken lines as compared to other characters. Both Gaga Bhattar and Chandramohan come off as much stronger characters, while Shivaji appears meek and submissive, trapped by political circumstance into accepting and acceding to the demands of the Brahmins.

The last scene of the play is the most impactful, and perhaps unintentionally, strikes a tragic note. Chandramohan is again with Indumathi, and he bitterly acknowledges the irony – he is now no longer a soldier, just as her father wished, because he has been dismissed by the King, who has abjectly surrendered to the Brahmins. Shivaji enters, and Chandramohan is suddenly hopeful – has he been readmitted to the royal service? But Shivaji is here to make a wistful, sad apology and bid farewell. He admits to Chandramohan that his new kingdom has been impoverished by the costly coronation rituals, and that the common people are suffering the consequences. The king admits that the sword can win a kingdom, but cannot keep it, in the face of internal opposition. He has been defeated, by the system, the caste hierarchy, and the power of the priestly castes. He asks Chandramohan, in a final impassioned speech, to hang up his sword, and go forth among the people and educate them. Perhaps, in a future time, when the common people have had their eyes opened to the oppressive nature of the religious and caste system, there will be a better world.

I must confess to being a bit disappointed with the way the play ended. This is a work that is easy to read, and a fast moving story, and it seemed to come to a rather abrupt and disappointing end. The wistful, almost sad tone of the last scene was a huge contrast to the mood of the earlier scenes. The few references to the play that I could find in other writing extolled the powerful criticism of caste oppression, and how the play skewered, with biting sarcasm, the hypocrisy of the Brahmins, and how it exposed their nefarious designs. Ultimately, however, as the viewers filed out of the auditorium after watching the play, wouldn’t they be disappointed too, at their defeat? Also, what does it say about Chandramohan, the protagonist? The brave warrior, the idealist, the man who dared to open his mouth and strongly express his objection in the court of the king, is almost invisible in that last scene. We wonder – what did happen to Chandramohan and others like him in Shivaji’s kingdom – the empire that eventually crumbled and whose remnants were ruled by the Brahmin Peshwas? Perhaps, the lesson we learn from this story, that Annadurai was trying to convey, is that this was too powerful a force to be defeated just with honest effort and bravery. The dominance of the upper castes, and the forces of Brahminism are simply too powerful, and that the struggle to establish a more equal society would be long and hard – that would lead to a Hindu Rajyam different from the one that Shivaji saw.