Chapter 1
Kathak Dance Today
Today, experiencing India’s kathak dance as a spectator is as close as the click of a mouse. Multiple video examples posted on the internet, from children’s classes to excerpts of professional performances, provide an easily accessible introduction. One professional example is an excerpt of a tarānā duet performed by renowned kathak gurū and dancer Rajendra Gangani and Sharmila Sharma, a former student of his now dancing professionally, and even a brief glance at this performance shows many characteristic features of kathak. The video begins as Gangani and Sharma, accompanied by the distinctive sounds of the tablā and sāra
gī, execute a succession of simultaneous pal
ās or single turns in alternate directions. Reaching the centre of the stage, they enter into a short choreographic ‘conversation’, exchanging a few brief sequences that combine flowing arms with rhythmic footwork augmented by the sounds of their ghugrū or ankle bells. Their movements are energetic, yet contained – crisp, yet graceful. The final exchange shifts seamlessly into a series of electrifying spins that finish suddenly in matching motionless stances. A singer’s voice joins the musical accompaniment as a pantomimed story begins; Gangani moves to the side of the stage, and Sharma sinks to the floor, gracefully gesturing as if she were adorning herself with jewellery (‘Tarana – A Technical Piece of Kathak’, YouTube, accessed 6 July 2012).
The Dance Itself
A tarānā, like the one performed by Gangani and Sharma in 2007, is a precomposed and choreographed showpiece that combines typical movements and postures with short rhythmic dances from the solo kathak repertoire in an exciting and virtuosic display of skill. Although many kathak performances today present such new creations and combinations, these productions are almost always based on the solo dance repertoire, the ‘traditional’ material that makes up most of a kathak dancer’s training. I do not intend to describe contemporary kathak dance here in great detail – not only would such an attempt necessarily fall far short of experience but this book is about history after all. Nevertheless, an outline of the solo performance structure and repertoire may be useful to some readers in contextualizing the investigation of historical performance practice that forms the large part of this study. Live performance, however, obviously surpasses any written description and I encourage readers who have not seen a kathak performance to seek out local or visiting dancers or browse their libraries and the internet for the many examples of video documentation.
What is often called ‘the traditional kathak solo’ is a stream of dance items that includes fixed compositions, improvisation, dialogue with the accompanying musicians and expressive pantomime. Even in large halls and formal settings, many dancers interact with the audience, announcing or explaining items, reciting compositions and even providing short anecdotes. The kathak solo generally begins in a slow tempo (vilambit lay) and gradually increases in speed and energy. Eventually the tempo doubles (medium speed or madhya lay) and finally quadruples (fast speed or drut lay). A similar progression of tempo occurs in Hindustani instrumental and vocal performances, and solo drumming concerts also share related repertoire types in their combination of genres that use improvisation and ones that are precomposed. In its expressive repertoire, on the other hand, kathak has more in common with North Indian vocal music, and especially the themes and aesthetics found in what are called ‘light classical’ genres such as humrī and ghazal. Most performances include at least one piece of abhinaya, expressive gestures and pantomime that illustrate the lyrics of a song or outline the plot of a well-known story.
Music and movement thus achieve a thrilling synthesis in kathak especially when accompanied by accomplished musicians trained in Hindustani classical music. The links between music and dance are significant, as kathak dance shares many musical features with its accompanying music and Hindustani traditions at large and its typical ensemble in particular reflects shared social and historical roots between musicians and dancers. Chief among kathak’s accompanying instruments is the tablā, the pair of tuned hand-drums now ubiquitous in North India, which not only plays the same rhythms as the dancer’s feet, but also uses its wide range of sounds to reflect the qualities and moods of the dancer’s movements. The other crucial instrumental part is the lahrā or naghma, a repeated melody that outlines the tāl or rhythmic cycle, thus keeping it clear for both drummer and dancer. Lahrā is most often played on the bowed sāragī or the harmonium. Often both sāragī and harmonium are present, however, and with the addition of other drums such as the pakhāvaj and further melodic instruments, the number of accompanying musicians in an important performance may swell up to 10 or 12. Although necessity sometimes forces kathak dancers to use recorded music, especially in the diaspora where experienced musicians may be too costly or simply not available, the structural and historical links between music and dance in kathak make skilled, live accompaniment an ideal part of performance practice.
The first item in a contemporary solo kathak performance is sometimes a vandanā, a choreographed evocation of a Sanskrit prayer in which the dancer strikes iconic postures and performs gestures that evoke the Hindu deity addressed in the poem. The performance may not begin with this initial expression of reverence, however, but instead start with short patterns of footwork. This brief introduction then blends smoothly into the improvised stream of graceful postures and rhythmic swaying called hāh, which is interspersed with compositions in vilambit lay. The first is usually an āmad or entry piece but could also be the now rare salāmi, which features the Muslim salām or salutation. The rest of the performance follows, alternating between danced compositions and footwork and shifting into madhya lay then finally into drut lay with its spectacular series of uk
ās and parans. Gat nikās, cameo characterizations that include striking a graceful posture and then moving in a gliding walk called a cāl, and kavitā, a rhythmic poem illustrated through dance movements, are in drut lay and may come near the end of this section, which ends with a virtuosic and often lengthy display of footwork and spins called cakkars. Gat bhāv, a pantomimed telling of a story from a legend or epic, is also usually accompanied in drut lay, but often presented separately, after the flashy footwork sequence. Similarly, any renditions of dance-songs such as humrī or ghazal most often occur after the rhythmic section is completed.
Figure 1.1 Jaipur kathak exponent Durga Lal with accompanying ensemble. © Sangeet Natak Akademi, New Delhi, India
This particular performance sequence originated in the 1950s, but many dancers are unaware of this and simply accept it as an unquestioned part of ‘traditional’ performance practice. There is a physical logic to beginning slowly, but there is also a musical logic and cultural connection as vocal and instrumental performances follow a similar progression from slow and meditative to fast and exciting. Nevertheless, individual dancers can and do modify the sequence and content in their performances. Particular repertoire items within a given lay can be done in any order, expanded or omitted as the dancer wishes. Dancers will also step back occasionally to offer their tablā accompanist a chance for a solo, marking the rhythmic cycle with their hands while catching their breath. The sequence of items in solo performance is also often followed in kathak classes and individual lessons, after an initial vigorous session of footwork patterns that also functions as a warm-up. Classes then usually progress through vilambit, madhya and drut sections, reviewing and fine-tuning material from previous sessions or introducing new items through a combination of learning the oral notation or bols by ear and watching demonstrations by the teacher or gurū. As the students dance the movement sequences, compositions and rhythmic footwork used in solo performance, they absorb not only the standard repertoire, but also the choreographic vocabulary used both in solos and more innovative work.
The ‘Dominant Narrative’
Along with the postures and gestures, the repertoire and the footwork, kathak dance students also absorb a narrative about their dance, what it used to be and where it came from. I have observed the dissemination of this narrative in countless classes in both India and the North American diaspora, ranging from enthusiastic children at Chitresh Das’s Chhandam School in San Francisco chanting en masse that kathak is also called ‘Natvari Nritya’ meaning ‘the dance of Lord Krishna’, to awed young adults at Birju Maharaj’s Kalashram School in New Delhi listening reverently to the hereditary master’s anecdotes about his great-uncle Bindadin in the court of Lucknow. In institutions that offer certificates, diplomas, or bachelor degrees in kathak, required courses and exams reinforce and test a history of kathak that links the dance to Vaishnavism1 and places its origins 4,000 or more years ago in Vedic times when storytellers called Kathakas or Kathakars are said to have wandered the countryside disseminating Hindu mythology to the illiterate people. This devotional performance practice, sometimes labelled a dance but more often explained as a combination of recitation and gesture, is said to have faded as Muslim invasions took political control of North and Central India. The account then becomes somewhat vague as it describes this storytelling practice as having changed from its devotional form to a more physical and entertaining style as the performing arts moved from Hindu temples to Muslim courts. In a few accounts (for example Devi 1972) it is the Kathakas themselves who sought patronage from the Muslim rulers, but it is more commonly said that the dance itself changed through the general migration of performing artists to the imperial courts of the great Emperor Akbar and his successors (Singha and Massey 1967, Avtar 1984, Natavar 2000). Through the next 400 years, kathak dance is said to have become increasingly superficial, debauched and seductive as contests, tricks and gymnastic displays purportedly overshadowed the dance’s original purity of form and style. In addition, it is assumed that imported Persian dancing girls and eventually Indian courtesans adopted and corrupted the movements, changing them from pious to seductive. This presumed downward spiral is then said to have been finally halted at its nadir in the mid-nineteenth-century court of Lucknow by the enlightened ruler Nawab Wajid ‘Ali Shah, who was himself a dancer, and a family of hereditary performers who were both the descendants of the ancient storytellers and the ancestors of one of the central dance families of the twentieth century.
One can find literature that points out that there is no concrete evidence to connect the Vedic Kathakas to the dancers of today (Banerji 1982: 9, Venkataraman and Pasricha 2002: 50) and much of the rest of the narrative relies on oral testimony rather than archival confirmation. Nevertheless, the perception of kathak as the modern manifestation of an ancient tradition revived from a period of degeneracy permeates most understandings of the dance’s history, cultural meaning and context. More than 30 books, essays and articles in English and Hindi about kathak (including Vyas 1963, Devi 1972, Vatsyayan 1974, Dadhich 1981, Khokar 1984, Kothari 1989, Simha 1990, Rao and Chandrabhaga 1993, Narayan 1998, Massey 1999, Natavar 2000, Raghuvira 2000, Sinha 2000, and Srivastava 2008), not to mention hundreds of Indian dance websites, tell and retell the chronicle of the ancient storytellers, the decay of their art form, and its eventual revival. Pallabi Chakravorty drew attention to this phenomenon of unquestioning absorption of what she calls the ‘dominant narrative’ in her critical study of kathak, Bells of Change: Kathak Dance, Women and Modernity in India (2008). Chakravorty suggested that the mental focus and routine found in daily practice or riyāz make it transformative: ‘a powerful site where the dominant narrative … is reinforced in the minds of its practitioners as the authentic tradition of Kathak, thereby homogenizing its diverse history and tradition’ (Chakravorty 2008: 110).
This embodiment of belief reaches deeply into South Asian dance scholarship, as most dance scholars are or have been dancers themselves and undergoing intense training is frequently an important part of research. In the case of kathak, the connection of the dance to ancient Hindu practice has become so entrenched that it interferes with scholarship and critical thinking about not only history, but also power structures, class and caste questions, and gender issues. Many dancers become openly angry at the suggestion of an alternate reading of history, while others simply dismiss the idea, avoiding any consideration of new scholarship. I had the extent of this acculturation illustrated to me quite startlingly in a review of a talk I gave in 2012. I had chosen my subject matter carefully in order to avoid the controversial topics of temple origins or ancient dancers, yet found a review of my presentation stating clearly that I had ‘recounted how Kathak dance traces its roots in the nomadic bards of ancient northern India, known as kathakar-s, or story tellers’ (Banerjee 2012: 12). Even when no one tells the tale, it is heard nonetheless.
A Critical History
This book is thus about both history and historiography. To present an alternate history of kathak that simply contradicts the ‘dominant narrative’ will tell only part of the story, as a crucial feature of the dance’s history in the twentieth century is the creation of connections to ‘mythic ritual performance’ in the minds of both practitioners and scholars (Chakravorty 2008: 110). These connections, however, have contributed to a type of impasse in scholarship about kathak; one cannot understand the present kathak world in any sort of depth, much less engage with it critically, while still accepting the temple dance narrative. Since so many of the choreographic and contextual features of today’s kathak arise directly from the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century practice, it is extremely problematic to pursue any sort of contemporary study without acknowledging these sources. Yet, received history links the dance to ancient origins, distancing it from the practices of more recent centuries. One cannot study kathak’s past, even its recent past, without reinvestigating these claims and exploring the context of their creation in the ferment of colonial and postcolonial nationalism. In order to break out of the intellectual vortex both historical evidence and historiographical analysis need to be considered and critically assessed.
I move beyond written historical evidence, however. Although considerable parts of this investigation are based on extensive bibliographic and archival research including iconography, travel writings, indigenous treatises, census reports and colonial scholarship, I have also used anthropological methodologies including interviews with dancers and musicians, observations of kathak concerts and classes, and participant-observation through my own dance training. The voices of today’s dancers, while by and large reiterating the dominant narrative, also present oral histories that include carefully preserved accounts of the past. Even if parts of such accounts can be shown as not factually ‘true’, the details they contain and the contexts of their preservation can say much about both past and present. There is, furthermore, a physical history, an embodied archive, that needs to be part of any project of dance history. My training in kathak dance spanned a good 10 years and included study in both Canada and India and although I certainly have no claim to virtuosity, I was able to gain a kinaesthetic knowledge of kathak that informed both my bibliographic and ethnographic research.2 This embodied understanding obviously played a role in my interviews and conversations with other dancers, but also provided me with a level of physical insight that has been useful in my investigation of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century treatises, iconography and travel writings. Applying this insight to my observations of dancers intensely trained by master teachers who honed their own skills in the mid-twentieth century opened up a physical archive of past practice preserved in contemporary presentation. My research methods thus combine archival, embodied and ethnographic sources of information. This interdisciplinary methodology demands a critical approach as the evidence can often seem contradictory, yet it is in large part through adopting such a comprehensive framework that I have arrived at this alternate reading of kathak’s past.
Before engaging with the past, however, I need to begin more broadly. In order to contextualize the revised account that comprises most of the book, Chapter 2 places the writing of kathak’s accepted history in the context of Indian nationalism and its essential project of providing independent India with a ‘unitary narrative of historical becoming’ (Mantena 2012: 1). This in turn links my own investigation to the work of postcolonial scholars and other revisionist studies of South Asian music and dance. Kathak, however, is not only a dance, but also the appellation of a community of hereditary practitioners, the Kathaks, who are considered the traditional authorities of the genre and the heirs to the supposed temple tradition of the Kathakas. The conflation of the name of the dance itself and the identity of the dancers supports a hegemonic power structure in the kathak dance world. If the hereditary Kathaks not only ‘own’ the dance, but also actually ‘are’ the dance, proposing alternate origins for kathak can easily seem like a betrayal of these central artists and teachers. Chapter 3 thus provides an ethnography of the endogamous community of North Indian performing artists associated with the name Kathak, reaching beyond the well-known urban dance families and presenting as inclusive and broad a view of the caste or more accurately birādarī (brotherhood) as possible.
Beginning in Chapter 4, I return to the book’s central purpose, to re-examine the history of kathak dance as currently disseminated and place the dance of today in historical perspective. The history I propose diverges most widely from the current version in my investigation of the claims that kathak dance originated in the ancient past. I refute these stories of ancient origins, although my search through Sanskrit and Indo-Persian documents reveals many choreographic details related to today’s dance. Dance genres and performance practices even more convincingly related to today’s kathak emerge in the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century documentation, although they are not called kathak nor do they comprise a single, discrete practice. Performers called Kathaks or using Kathak as a surname also emerge in the documentation during the 1800s. They are visible primarily in the British census reports but also are mentioned in a couple of mid-nineteenth-century Urdu treatises. Their performance practices are diverse and include drumming, singing and acting in addition to dancing. They are connected closely with hereditary communities of women performers, yet gradually through the century assume an identity that distances them from the women they teach and accompany. Throughout these chapters I largely draw on well-known material but differ in my interpretation of the data. Above all, I argue that before the twentieth century there was no dance called kathak, and no single, identifiable performance practice that can be identified as the irrefutable ancestor of today’s dance. In the final chapters of this study, I look at the first decades of the twentieth century, the Indian nationalist movement, and the creation of kathak and its history.
Kathak is thus a twentieth-century dance, one that took its current form, practice and name in the decades leading up to Indian independence in 1947. It is a syncretic dance, a fusion of performance practice not only from past centuries but from a variety of North Indian sources. The synthesis of male and female practices, Muslim and Hindu contexts, and devotional and secular material into a single dance called kathak was a product of the cultural revival that dominated the arts during the first half of the twentieth century. The dance was named after the community of hereditary musicians and dancers called Kathaks – the ‘dance of the Kathaks’ became ‘kathak dance’ – and how this community emerged as sole owners of the hybrid tradition is also bound up in the larger context of colonial and independent India. The first step in recontextualizing kathak history must therefore be a look at the political and philosophical trends that shaped the writing of history during colonial and postcolonial India.
Map 1.1 Map of South Asia showing important locations mentioned in the text
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