Debates about freedom of expression and government censorship, have been around for a long time. In early March, Prime Minister Narendra Modi credited his government for having repealed a colonial-era law called the Dramatic Performances Act, enacted in 1876. Blame games soon followed over obsolete laws.

Given the law was brought into the spotlight, it is interesting to note why it was enacted in the first place, and how it impacted the nation’s cultural landscape. A peek into its history shows how ingenious writers lifted their craft to express themselves despite clamp downs. Here’s a glimpse of how they did it.

Debates about freedom of expression and government censorship, have been around for a long time. In early March, Prime Minister Narendra Modi credited his government for having repealed a colonial-era law called the Dramatic Performances Act, enacted in 1876. Blame games soon followed over obsolete laws.

Given the law was brought into the spotlight, it is interesting to note why it was enacted in the first place, and how it impacted the nation’s cultural landscape. A peek into its history shows how ingenious writers lifted their craft to express themselves despite clamp downs. Here’s a glimpse of how they did it.

Theatre in India

Theatre, both the classical and folk form, has existed in India for millennia. While Bhasa and Kalidasa lit up the stage with plays in classical Sanskrit, travelling theatrical troupes and singing bards were a common feature of the countryside. These performances were often rooted in our scriptures and epics. But in the nineteenth century, theatre gradually became a medium of protest against colonial rule.

On 7th December, 1872, the Calcutta National Theatrical Society staged a play called Nil Darpan, a scathing expose of the oppression of impoverished Bengali ryots by British indigo planters. The play received rave reviews and became instantly popular. On its heels, came similar productions like Bharat-Mata, Puru-Vikram, Bharate-Yavan and Beer Nari.

As their popularity grew, so did government resentment. Performance of Nil Darpan was ordered to be stopped immediately, and an ordinance was promulgated to empower the government to prohibit dramatic performances, that were defamatory, seditious, obscene, or prejudicial to public interest.

Subsequently, the Dramatic Performances Act was enacted in 1876 to control seditious theatre. If any play was found to be disrupting social values or exciting feelings of disaffection against the government, its performance could be prohibited.

Further, the government had the right to verify plays, and the police could enter, arrest and seize persons, costumes, and other articles. No public performance was to take place without the sanction of a licence, and the penalty for breaking the law, was imprisonment for three months, or a fine, or both.

Naturally, theatre fell into a lull. Police surveillance and threats of arrest, made it challenging for writers to present material attacking colonial rule. But gradually, things began to change. Instead of letting the law muzzle them, writers cloaked their revolutionary messages.

A Case of Clever Camouflage

While the British restricted plays with an overtly nationalistic message, they appeared to have no problem in approving those with religious themes. Sensing a window of opportunity, writers took a bold chance. Given that plays based on scriptures and epics held a wide appeal, playwrights began concealing nationalistic messages in mythological stories.

‘The censor board never listened very carefully to religious/mythological and historical dramas,’ Ganpat Daangi, an actor in mythological plays of that time is reported to have said. ‘Carelessly, it would stamp the play for approval. But it listened to and read social plays very carefully. And sometimes the drama- wallahs also manged to deceive the censor board,’

The trend began in Bengal and spread quickly. Soon, heroes from the epics were seen mouthing dialogues instilling national fervour to packed theatre halls across the country. Here’s a peek into some of the notable plays that rocked the stage during this period.

Vir Abhimanyu

Vir Abhimanyu (Brave Abhimanyu) by Radheyshyam Kathavachak tapped into the well-known story of Abhimanyu from the Mahabharata. Although young and alone, Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu, had fearlessly entered the chakravyuha at Kurukshetra. Sacrificing his own life, he had fought bravely against those more powerful than him. Kathavachak cleverly wove his message into this episode.

In the play, Shubhadra urges her son to fight, and Abhimanyu’s pregnant wife Uttara sends her husband into the battlefield, although there are no such lines in the Mahabharata.

‘Show me how to use the sword…I will go the battle and show my valour’ Uttara says to Abhimanyu, prompting women in the audience to join the fight for freedom.

Sample these opening lines between the male and female sutradhars (narrators), that sets the tone for the play:

Nati : Interests are now changing. There is a tradition of mythological drama. At such a time, we should think about playing a significant drama, along with entertainment, we should also preserve our society and our nation.

Nata: Is that so? Then, to show to the children of India, the pride of India’s brave ones, let’s play Bareilly resident Radheyshyam Kathavachak’s drama Vir Abhimanyu…. Let us play Abhimanyu Natak for the benefit of our countrymen.

Nati: Abhimanyu? Which Abhimanyu?...In the battle of Mahabharata when the Indian field was being marked with the sacred blood of the brave ones, the one who gave up his life to fulfil the pledge to his nation….that Abhimanyu?

Nata: Yes, that Abhimanyu, son of Aryans… the one who immortalized his name by giving up his life. Let us sing the praises of that brave and powerful one.

The lines are imbued with clever symbolism. In the end, although Abhimanyu perished, his son Parikshit became king and enjoyed the fruits of his father’s sacrifice, thus sending out a message to viewers that their sacrifice would not go unrewarded.

Bhakta Prahlad

Bhakta Prahlad (Devout Prahlad) was another of Kathavachak’s plays, which on the surface, was the story of young Prahlad, son of King Hiranyakashipu, who stood up against the tyranny of his father. But if one read between the lines, it urged Indians to stand up against British injustice, much like Prahlad had done. The underlying message was that like Lord Vishnu had supported Prahlad in the Vishnu Purana, Indians too could expect divine assistance in their fight against the powerful British.

Panchali Capatam

In the south, Tamil writer Subramanya Bharatiyar, wrote the poetic dance-drama Panchali Capatam (The Vow of Draupadi), which drew from the Mahabharata and the local terukuttu tradition. The infamous game of dice from the epic formed the central theme with Bharatiyar transforming it into a political metaphor that compared the disrobing and humiliation of Draupadi with the loot and oppression of India. Draupadi became Bharat Mata, and the Kauravas symbolized India’s colonial masters. A huge hit, the play was ultimately outlawed by the British. Even so, hand-copied versions were surreptitiously circulated by college students, and it continued to remain popular.

Kichak Vadha

One of the most explosive plays of this era was Kichak Vadha (Slaying of Kichaka) by Krishnaji Khadilkar, associate of Bal Gangadhar Tilak, and editor of the Kesari. Drawing inspiration yet again from the Mahabharata, the Marathi drama turned the episode from the Virata-Parvan into an allegory of India’s humiliation.

In the epic, the Pandavas spend their last year of exile in disguise in King Virata’s court, when Kichaka, the king’s minister and brother-in-law, attempts to molest Draupadi. While a pacifist Yuddhishira does not intervene, an infuriated Bhima kills Kichaka. On the literal level, the play portrayed a dramatic episode from the epic, but at a deeper level, it professed support for the radical stance of extremists within the Congress party and mocked its moderates.

Kichaka represented Lord Curzon, the Viceroy, with his atrocities representing the Viceroy’s excesses; Draupadi was India, and her dishonour was Mother India’s shame; Yudhisthira stood for moderate nationalists like Gandhi, while Bhima represented those who were willing to take violent measures to achieve freedom. Bhima’s success in liberating Draupadi implied the ultimate triumph of the revolutionary method.

To leave no doubt, the play even had Lord Curzon’s utterances like, ‘rulers are rulers and slaves are slaves’ finding place in Kichaka’s lines. Draupadi and Bhima expressed the popular mood of resentment and revolt through their fiery dialogues.

Soon, the British began to smell a rat. In a scathing review, The Times called the play an act of sedition. ‘There is no doubt that the Deccan audience takes this play as a cleverly veiled incitement to murder European officials,’ stated a secret police abstract. Ultimately, this play too was banned.

Today, over a century after these events, it is worth recalling how creative and courageous writers confronted clampdowns. Censorship is the bane of any society that values a free exchange of ideas, which, in turn, is the bedrock of progress. Recollecting an era when writers cleverly subverted censorship laws reminds us that the pen is indeed mightier than all else.

Mallika Ravikumar is a lawyer-turned-writer and children’s author, @mallika.ravikumar on Instagram