“Unhappy is the land that needs a hero.” Maharaj Krishna Raina prefers to practise what German playwright Bertolt Brecht famously said in a country that loves to indulge in hero worship.
Over the years, the veteran theatre practitioner has covered his conviction with a gentle smile and used culture as a catalyst for socio-political change in sensitive parts of the country. Be it Punjab, Kashmir, or the North East, Raina says his mantra has always been, “Hero nahin banana hai.” His art always does the talking.
During the pandemic, the septuagenarian got time to pause and look back at his career; the result is an immensely readable account. Titled Before I Forget (published by Penguin Classics), the memoir traces the historical events that shaped Raina and informed his art.
M.K. Raina poses in front of a photograph of his adaptation of King Lear in Bandh Pather form of Kashmiri folk theatre | Photo Credit: Anuj Kumar
Deep recall
The theft of the holy relic from the Hazratbal shrine in his hometown Srinagar in 1963, the 1984 anti-Sikh riots in Delhi, the brutal murder of the cultural activist and close friend Safdar Hashmi in 1989, the Kashmiri Pandits’ exodus, the fallout of the demolition of Babri Masjid in 1992, and the ethnic tension in the North East — the memoir reads like a layered script where it is impossible to take sides, and only lessons can be drawn. No wonder his friend, director Sudhir Mishra is contemplating conjuring up a film script out of Raina’s rich memory.
An actor-auteur-activist who stood his ground in turbulent circumstances, at times life-threatening, Raina has pen-painted some life-aletring moments. Like in his plays, in real life too, Raina avoids cliches and finds humour and hope in the dark. Taking a line from his famous play on the Oppenheimer trial, much before Christopher Nolan woke up to the relevance of the physicist, Raina says he doesn’t like to follow the ideas of others.
In Safdar’s case, he questioned the forces of disruption, with his friends, including actor Shabana Azmi, at the opening ceremony of the International Film Festival of India in Delhi.
A few years later, after the demolition of Babri mosque, Raina was again at the forefront, coining the slogan: Ab koi nara na hoga, bas desh bachana hoga (Now there will be no sloganeering, it will only be about saving the nation) and questioned Atal Bihari Vajpayee.
When Kashmiri Pandits were driven out of their homes, he held the silence of the secularists responsible for pushing the Pandits and the political narrative into the hands of the right-wing ecosystem.
“We can’t cease to be citizens,” says Raina. He draws inspiration from the idol of the Buddha, where he is in deep meditation, and one hand is touching the ground.
“I analyse it for myself as, if you remain in touch with the ground, you won’t go wrong.”
M K Raina at his residence in Noida | Photo Credit: Anuj Kumar
Often, he says, the cure for stinging nettle is another weed that grows nearby. “You just have to look for it.”
Inquiry, he says, is important in the Indian tradition.
“Chela guru se sawal karta hai (The disciple asks for answers from the guru). It is there in our Puranas. It is the crux of the Bhagavad Gita. Unfortunately, this tradition is diminishing.”
Raina describes himself as the “product of socialist India,” which allowed him plenty of affordable books and an opportunity to hone his craft at the National School of Drama.
“The majority of us were from modest backgrounds with a rich repertoire of tradition and no inferiority complex.” He was perhaps the first to truly follow the purpose of the theatre school: taking the art form to the grassroots.
Battling stereotypes, Raina worked hard to revive folk theatre in the Kashmir Valley at the turn of the millennium. “I revived my links with the traditional artist villages that dot the area between Anantnag and Pahalgam and worked quietly. I didn’t take shelter from authorities and never allowed anybody to boast in public that Raina has come to work with them.”
He merged himself with the locals and provided them with opportunities to contribute to theatre.
“We requested local potters to make masks and implored tailors to tweak their craft to create costumes. A trunk maker improvised to design artificial swords.”
Formidable battles
When the audience size reached 5,000, the separatists woke up to Raina and his team’s presence in the Pir Panjal.
“They tried to thwart our efforts, but by then the villagers had realised culture’s role in venting pent-up feelings. They would tell those with the guns: ab tum humein hasne bhi nahin doge. (now, you won’t even allow us to laugh).”
Raina fondly remembers his acting stint that started with Avatar Kaul’s avant-garde 27 Down with Rakhee, where he played a ticket collector. Shot on a real train, Raina remembers that the authorities gave in to the persistence of the young team.
“As long as you could hide the cameras, it was not too expensive to shoot on platforms and trains. In fact, at times, passengers took me for a real TC. Shooting on railway stations and trains became expensive only after BR Chopra made The Burning Train.”
Raina went on to work with stalwarts of art house cinema like Mani Kaul and Mrinal Sen.
“We were part of a movement that believed in healthy theatre and wanted to carry forward the same sensibilities in cinema, but the movement fizzled out when filmmakers started to rope in stars under box office pressure.”
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