B H I M S E N
byPrem Panicker
Adapted from“Randaamoozham” by M T Vasudevan Nair
Kahani hamari Mahabharat ki
As a child growing up in the ancestral
tharavad
in Calicut, Kerala, duskwas my favorite time. My grandmother would ritually light the lamp,bring it out into the front porch to the traditional call of
dee-pam!
—thecall that signaled that her work for the day was done, and the story-telling could begin.Grandma was a brilliant narrator, with skills stage performers wouldenvy: thus, rather than tell the tale in linear fashion, she would set thestage, conjuring up a vision of the setting, the characters, thebackdrop, and then leading into her story which she told with dialog,occasionally poetical riffs, and an educated ear for the inherent drama.The
Mahabharat
was her favorite go-to book when it came time fortelling stories; mine too. Though she ritually worshiped the
Ramayan
[there’s this one month in the calendar when, at dusk, she would bringout her copy and read aloud from it for an hour; I’d find other thingsto do, but as I heard her end the day’s reading, would come runningback for the sweetened
poha
and other goodies that were a part of such rituals]. She sensed that the very linear, black-and-whitemorality play that is the
Ramayan
was not conducive to grippingnarration the way the
Mahabharat
was, with its highly charged centralnarrative embellished by the underlying filigree work of side storiesand tangential asides.
B
HIMSEN
1
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