Dakshin Dinajpur, Jan 28 (PTI) In the evening shadows of a bamboo grove clearing in West Bengal’s Dakshin Dinajpur district, 57-year-old Madhab Sarkar carefully fastened the laces of a bright red costume with sparkling hand-stitched motifs over the skin hugging upper body black spandex of his son, a member of his dance troupe.
A dilapidated village shrine, ‘than’ in local parlance, stands close to the spot, its contours barely visible in the dark.
The area is lit by a bonfire generating the occasional crackling sound from damp wood in the centre of the clearing and a few flambeaux embedded in its circumference. A large crowd has gathered, silhouetted against the flames and waiting patiently to watch their gods come down to earth and dance.
Sarkar helms a troupe of 20-odd dancers of Gomira, a masked folk art form rooted in rituals and mythical storytelling. The heavy, intricately carved, wooden masks depicting characters like ‘Bura-Buri’ (representing Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati), Goddess Kali, and Narasingha Avatar of Bishnu, and also of demons and animals, are put on, transporting the performers to a trance, seized by the deities whose masks they sport.
A set of percussionists, playing the ‘dhol’ (traditional drums) and ‘kashi’ (brass plate emanating a shrill sound when rhythmically played with a wooden bar), raise the tempo with incessant beats which get louder, faster and more frenzied with time, to which the dancers enact the play on the clearing, their makeshift stage.
Replete with Puranic symbolism, each act aims to ward off evil forces and welcome the blessings of the gods to usher in the new sowing season.
Sarkar whispers instructions to the ‘gods-in-waiting’ outside the flaming circumference of the ‘stage’, eager to jump inside and then quickly attends to costume changes for the actors, who have temporarily left the arena for the open greenroom, curtained only by the pitch darkness of the grove, to get them ready for their next act.
Droplets of sweat appear on Sarkar’s forehead despite the chill of ‘Pous’, the winter month of the Bengali calendar, as the performance frenzy reaches its crescendo. He knows that in a few days the bookings from local clubs or festival committees would dry up and there may not be another till ‘Chaitra’, the last month of the Bengali calendar, typically falling between March and April.
The Gajan or the Charak festival in Chaitra is when the demand for Gomira dancers peaks, often involving night-long performances. And then, there’s another break till the Durga Puja in September-October.
“I had picked up the dance steps, the ‘mudra’ and the intricacies from my father, who was, in turn, coached by my grandfather. It’s in our veins. My son is being groomed to be my successor,” Sarkar said.
He, however, said the situation is not the same for others.
“My colleagues often tell me their children are not interested in practising this art anymore,” Sarkar said, revealing he has been practising the art form for decades.
The tradition of Gomira dates back over 150 years, but declining interest amid inconsistent contract bookings have made the new generation reluctant to maintain a strict, year-round practice schedule to keep themselves fit and agile for the high-energy, physically demanding dance form, the artist said.
“We are into farming during other times of the year, but never slacken our rigorous practice schedule. But, I don’t know how to sustain it as people, even in villages, don’t seem interested in this dance form anymore,” he said.
Sarkar’s observations gather irony even as his troupe members choose to retain their costumes and masks from their overnight act, still not free of the gods they were possessed by, as they walk past the bright yellow fields of freshly sown mustard, highlighting the fecund and bucolic landscape to return next morning to Khagail village, the obscure rural hamlet they hail from.
“During the lean season, we depend on government programmes and political campaigns that parties hire us for. But, the attention span of people has shortened. So, we have to modify elaborate acts into formats not exceeding 20 minutes,” Sarkar said, sounding regretful.
Once popular across Dinajpur and adjacent North Bengal districts, Gomira has now shrunk pretty much to the confines of the Kushmandi block with about a hundred or so dancers, split across different troupes, still practising the art.
Back in Khagail, 29-year-old Loknath Sarkar, the mask maker, was applying vegetable dye on his latest pieces with neat brush strokes with deft hands.
“We don’t compromise on the design, material used for making masks. Some among us use cork as a base material in place of wood. But, that is a gimmick. We have to guard against such trends,” he said, carefully chiselling through lightweight woods like mango, neem or kadam.
The Geographical Indication (GI) tag, which Gomira masks received in 2018, has helped protect the art form, Sarkar admitted.
Madhab said his troupe has visited places like Delhi and Goa, apart from Kolkata, for shows to project the rich tapestry of Bengal’s heritage and culture, but such events are few and far between.
The upcoming state elections, he said, could provide the much-needed boost to spike the enthusiasm of Gomira artists during the interim “dry season”.
“We are banking on calls from political parties to showcase our art during cultural shows at public meetings. We are supposed to wrap it up quickly before the main speakers take over. But, the payments are good,” Sarkar added. PTI SMY RBT
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