Keya Sarkar: Pulling at the heart strings

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

Of the 20-odd kids that I teach in Santiniketan, I had sponsored five to a three-day puppet-making workshop. Shyamali, the most enthusiastic and energetic 65-year-old I have ever met, had agreed to take on the entire responsibility of the workshop.

Which meant not only having three talented puppet-making facilitators, Alok, Piyu and Swapna, staying with her, but arranging for 50-odd participants to work in her garden and supplying them with tea and lunch. But she did it with effortless ease .

The workshop was free (Alok's team has a grant from a donor agency) and so were the ingredients required for the three days of learning. The kids I teach, all children of rickshaw pullers and house maids, were apprehensive about getting into a social situation with the more privileged. But the first day itself put their fears at rest.

Although I had not enrolled for the workshop, the accounts I heard from the excited kids fuelled my curiosity. I joined on the third and final day and enjoyed myself immensely. The participants were aged between 10 and 40 and were an eclectic mix of those who could paint, sew and sing. The facilitators obviously loved what they did and created magic with match box animation, paper bag puppets and glove puppet characters. There was also a 70-year-old puppet maker from Andhra Pradesh who had chosen to spend some time in Santiniketan. The participants were fascinated by his shadow play.

What they had not realised, however, was that the first two days were a build up to the grand finale "" a mini play to show that puppet making is not an end in itself.

As Alok led some of the participants to create a huge puppet (about 10 feet tall), Piyu helped others to dress it up as the Goddess of the jungles or "Banadevi". Swapna took the remaining aside to rehearse songs to install a soul and make the puppet Banadevi come alive.

As some of the children started to make the paper mache figure of Banadevi, others created garlands with dried leaves, neem flower buds, and earrings and bangles with the many-hued hibiscus that adorns every garden.

They were forbidden to pluck leaves or flowers and had to make do with whatever had fallen to the ground. The lesson was that one couldn't adorn Banadevi by hurting nature.

So the puppet, with its body made of bamboo and head and hands of paper mache, came alive in vibrant colours "" replete with a black cloth dress and flowing black hair. By late afternoon Banadevi was ready to be installed and rehearsals for the songs had drawn to a close. We shifted to a corner of Shyamali's garden as some of the participants began to beat improvised tin drums and bells to create the atmosphere. As Alok went behind the huge puppet to move her hands to the beat of the drums, the children stood completely enthralled.

The plan was to make wishes or ask for boons from the Banadevi. And these wishes were supposedly being asked by the animal puppets that the participants had made over the previous two days. As the children lined up, some of them were almost fearful. A puppet they had themselves made was now clearly awe inspiring. The moment was magical.

Probably inspired by all this creativity, Shyamali's dog, Maharaj, suddenly took it upon himself to dig a huge hole just beside where Banadevi had been installed. Maharaj's show of creativity was accompanied by the birds singing to the beating of the drums.

Almost all those who passed by the house thought the puppet was indeed some Goddess and lifted their folded hands to their heads. Banadevi could have asked for no better atmosphere.