Omprakash Chavan who plays women characters getting ready for a performance.
| Photo Credit:
EMMANUAL YOGINI
Omprakash Chavan who plays women characters getting ready for a performance.
| Photo Credit:
EMMANUAL YOGINI
Omprakash Chavan rehearses before the play in Sindhudurg district.
| Photo Credit:
EMMANUAL YOGINI
Omprakash Chavan displays the images of the women characters he has played at his house in Malvan, Sindhudurg.
| Photo Credit:
EMMANUAL YOGINI
Zarap village of Kudal taluka in Sindhudurg district, Maharashtra, is bustling. It’s evening and the lanes are alive with Marathi devotional songs and stalls selling toys and vada-pav, shakkarpara, and khaja. The village temple and its surroundings are lit up with twinkling lights. The fragrance of night jasmine and incense is in the air.
At 10.30 p.m., the Dashavatar artistes gather at Samir Tendolkar’s house for dinner. Samir is the owner of the Tendolkar Paramparik Dashavatar Natya Mandal, a theatre company that has been conducting shows around stories from Indian mythology for the past 40 years. After eating chicken, rice, and sliced onion for dinner, the artistes head to the temple, a kilometre or so away. There, in the green room, behind the curtains of the concrete stage, they get ready for the show that will begin at midnight.
The artistes pray to a petara, a box in which the props used in the show, including the Ganesha mask, are stored. Ganesha is the god of auspicious beginnings. Then, they sit in a row next to each other with a mirror placed over iron trunks that contain their costumes, hair, and make-up. Incandescent light bulbs hang over the boxes. A few children from the village squeeze themselves onto a cloth mat and watch two of the men transform into women characters.
Omprakash Chavan, 56, from Amdos village, is essaying the role of Rani Sukhanti, a character in her 20s, in a play from the Shiva Purana, a text considered sacred by Hindus. Ganpat Ankush Manjarekar, 52, from Mochemad village, is playing Ladkaya, the wife of a drunk farmer. She’s a comic who later saves the queen’s life.
Dashavatar is a form of theatre that relies on improvisation around a mythological narrative and its practitioners claim that it has a history of at least 800 years in Sindhudurg district and north Goa. Ever since it began, men have been playing women’s roles. The men are usually farmers, or run small businesses, or employed as daily wage workers for some part of the year.
Gender blender
Every year, the Dashavatar season begins after the paddy harvest, towards the end of the Navratri fast in October, and continues until May the following year.
The plays are based on a clutch of stories of the 10 incarnations of the Hindu god Vishnu: Matsya (the fish), Kurma (the tortoise), Varaha (the boar), Narasimha (the lion-man), Vamana (the dwarf), and Rama from the Ramayana; Parashurama (Rama with an axe), and Krishna (or his brother Balarama) from the Mahabharata; and Buddha and Kalki (an avatar yet to come).
Temple authorities from villages offer contracts to Dashavatar theatre companies to perform during the annual fair, called jatra. The companies sign up Dashavatar artistes through a verbal contract that they will be touring and performing with them for the season.
In Sindhudurg, there are around 400 Dashavatar artistes, of which about 25 experienced men play women characters. Prashant Tendolkar, 48, who has been playing only male characters for two decades, says, “For a society that has placed men and women in two brackets with a certain identity, we have a long way to go before people see artistes just as artistes.”
He recalls instances of men who play women having difficulty finding a woman to marry. “People question their gender identity, which is hard to deal with. Most artistes want to play male characters as they are seen as strong, powerful, and dominating,” says Prashant, who has a motorcycle seat cover shop at Tendoli village in Kudal.
Dinesh Gore, an 11th-generation practitioner, says his family started Dashavatar performances in Sindhudurg. He claims there is an 800-year-old Ganesha mukhavata (mask) used by his ancestors in his house. He says his forefathers saw Karnataka’s Yakshagana performances and felt the need to promote mythological stories in Maharashtra.
He says eight brothers split into different locations and formed Dashavatar companies. Gore, who runs the Balkrishna Gore Deshavatar Natya Mandal, says, “Those days, Dashavatar was performed only by Brahmins, but after the death of the brothers, members of the Devli community (also known as Devadasi and engaged in cleaning temples) began performing to keep the tradition alive.” Two years ago, Gore formed a women’s Dashavatar group, but participation and acceptance have been low.
A woman on stage
The night grows deeper in Zarap. Omprakash, who says he has been part of over 8,000 performances over 40 years, cleans his face with water, puts on moisturiser, layers it with foundation, applies lipstick on his cheeks for blush, and powders the whole look into place. He carefully wears eyeliner, kajal, mascara, and shapes his eyebrows using a kajal pencil. He then combs his shoulder-length black, curly hair into place.
“When I performed Dashavatar at Mumbai’s J.J. Hospital 25 years ago, the organisers had hired professional make-up artists. That is when I realised how make-up is done. Earlier, I used powdered colours mixed with water and painted my face,” Omprakash says, adding that the same colour is used to paint clay idols. “Many still use it.” He was 10 when he first watched Wahto he durvanchi judi, a Marathi play at a high school in his village. He dreamt of training as a professional actor, but the closest he could get was performing Dashavatar as it required no trained acting. All it needed was knowledge of Hindu mythology and a sense of improvisation, he says.
At 14, when his father passed away, his mother would take up daily wage jobs and sculpt clay idols. Omprakash would help his classmates complete their science projects and earn to keep his schooling going. “I managed to study till Class 10. At 19, I took part in a Dashavatar performance near our village. I had two reasons to join: to fill my stomach and to act,” he says.
Till about 30 years ago, artistes would pack a few clothes in a bedsheet and travel with theatre companies for six months, sleep in temples, and move to the next location on foot. Omprakash’s first performance was essaying the role of Vatsala, daughter of Balaram. The Walavalkar Dashavatar company, which is over 100 years old, liked his work and offered him a two-year contract.
Later, he joined the Naik Mochemadkar Dashavatar company and performed with them for 29 years. Omprakash says he has played a 20-year-old woman, a pregnant woman, a bride, a queen, Draupadi, and many more characters. He modulates his voice, pitching it higher, and makes movements that are fluid to mimic a woman’s.
Once he wears a blouse, Omprakash covers his chest with a piece of cloth to style his hair and wear jewellery, before draping the sari. “I grew up around my mother and have watched Pranali (his wife). By society’s definition, men are supposed to be hot-tempered and strong. But women have layers of emotions that they use when required. I was very nervous when I first performed as I was aware how society perceives a man dressing as a woman,” he says, as he slips on green glass bangles that represent fortune and fertility in a happy married life.
He has been married for 32 years. Pranali is an ASHA (Accredited Social Health Activist) worker and they have two sons and a daughter. From being childhood friends to falling in love, Pranali has been part of her husband’s journey. “I have always loved watching him get dressed and perform. I tell people my husband is more beautiful than I am,” she says in their home before he sets out for the performance.
Pranali has her own challenges. She is often bullied for loving a man who takes on women’s characters. “My parents were against our marriage. Most women don’t find a man who is sensitive and calm,” she says. Omprakash sells home-made spices, sculpts clay idols, and makes soft drinks under the brand name PO, the first letters of both their names, and a word that means drink in Hindi.
“There are two theories about why only men perform Dashavatar: one is based on the tale of Lord Vishnu assuming the form of Mohini, a beautiful female avatar to outsmart the demons. The other is that menstruation restricts women from participating in religious events,” says Omprakash as he gets up to drape the nauvari (nine-yard) sari. It is almost time for the performance.
The stars shine bright
As the night gets darker and the stars clearer in the open sky, residents of Zarap and nearby villages gather at the temple ground. They sit on plastic sheets and wrap themselves in shawls to watch the show.
This Dashavatar revolves around Dambhasur, a demon king, who wants to kill Raja Sukant, his son-in-law. Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction, had promised Dambhasur that no one would be able to kill him, except his son-in-law. So, the demon would kill every daughter born to him and his wife. Rani Sukhanti, however, survived and later married. Each play has all the nine rasas, including anger, humour, and sorrow. There is music with a harmonium, a pakhawaj (a percussion instrument), and cymbals. Musicians sit in a corner of the stage.
The bench on the stage changes its role depending on the requirement of the character and what they must enact. At one point, it is Mount Kailash, where Shiva resides; later, it is the edge of a well that Rani Sukhanti climbs onto to jump into the make-believe water. Ladkya, the comic, tries to rescue her and they both fall off the bench, behind the curtain that separates the green room and the stage.
The audience is so impressed by the performance that they offer bakshish (money) ranging from ₹50 to ₹2,000. People walk up to hand over money to an actor, who stops for a second, collects it, and carries on.
The three-hour-long show runs without a break, and while the storyline and movements are plotted, several aspects of it remain impromptu. Most actors get paid between ₹200 and ₹500, while senior artistes like Omprakash get ₹1,000 per show. Samir, the troupe head, distributes the bakshish after the show.
“People love Omprakash’s performance and the mention of his name brings a good crowd,” says Samir, who admits that there isn’t enough money in the business to make it a full-time profession. “For one show, we get around ₹8,000 to ₹10,000 from the temple authorities. I distribute some among the artistes and the rest is used to meet expenses. A company performs at least 200 shows each season,” says Samir, who is a mechanic and owns a garage.
The future
Ravi Bibhishan Chavare, Director of Maharashtra’s Cultural Affairs Department, says for the last 15 years, the State government has been organising Dashavatar festivals at different locations in the Konkan region. This year’s festival is being held across January and February.
In March, at Ek Bharat Shreshtha Bharat, a Central government programme aimed at fostering cultural exchanges, Dashavatar will be performed in Odisha. “Maharashtra has over 350 art forms and we can only select five for the league,” Chavare says.
“There are more than 70 troupes that perform Dashavatar. Our aim is to preserve and promote the art form by organising such festivals that are completely funded by the government,” he says. He adds that the government offers honorarium of ₹60,000 per troupe along with lodging and travel expenses. “The State government also gives ₹5,000 per month to artistes above 50 years.”
Omprakash has never been part of a government initiative. In fact, he worries that the art form may be dying. It began when television came to the village about 30 years ago, he recounts. “Today, there are several distractions. It is not the fault of the audience if they lose interest in Dashavatar. It is up to us to keep them coming back to our performances,” says Omprakash, who refuses to join social media to promote the art form. “Only those looking for validation need such tools,” he says.
In Omprakash and Pranali’s home, set in the middle of open land, the walls are covered with photographs of performances. There are deities and awards next to each other on a table. There are a few props in one of the wooden cupboards with a glass front. One is a baby wrapped in a cloth. “When I play the role of a mother, I carry this doll with me,” Omprakash says.
Published – February 07, 2025 08:29 am IST
