Romanticising Raj

The Far Pavilions is a readable romance that gives a coloured and sometimes even naive view of history, writes Pavan K Varma.

I saw The Far Pavilions the other day, and still don't quite know how to react. During the intermission, while I jostled to get something to drink, someone asked me: Are you liking it? I smiled and nodded and then raised my eyebrows and smiled again. I think my interlocutor understood that I liked it but was not sure, or that I was not sure that I liked it, or that I did not really have an opinion, or that I did not quite know why I was there.

Which, of course, was all for the good, because that is precisely how I felt. What can one expect if a book by M. M. Kaye on the Raj is made into a musical and shown on Shaftesbury Avenue in the year of the Lord 2005? What did those who were disappointed expect? Did they think they would witness a cerebral evaluation of the period when Britain ruled India? Did they think that the contrived story of the romance between Ashok and Anjali would suddenly transmute itself into believable theatre merely because four million pounds was spent in its production?

I think it is important to first clarify for ourselves the criteria by which we judge such extravaganzas. Certainly, the production was technically competent. The stage went round in circles quite innovatively, and screens descended from above in rather ingenious ways. The lighting was effective, the acoustics brilliant, and the costumes quite befitting a musical. Kabir Bedi, who is a friend, looked splendid as the Khan Saheb, and Gayatri, the new find, who makes her debut as Anjali, does have a very good voice. The music, I thought, could have been better, but why weren't more songs set to an Indian lilt and rhythm? I thought Gayatri could have done great justice to an Indian melody, and this would have provided some musical relief since a great many of the other numbers sounded frustratingly similar. The lyrics were as good as one can expect given the limitations of the story line.

My real problem with stories like The Far Pavilions is their content. They present an elitist and romanticized view of British rule, which is just not tenable, any more. Take the elements in this story: a kingdom, a princess, a maharaja, the kingdoms intriguing against each other, natives serving their British masters and forging a bond with them but never doubting their place, and ghastly rituals like sati which the British nobly step in to prevent. From a British point of view these ingredients make an exotic cocktail, resurrecting a picture of the Raj in sepia tones of wistful nostalgia. But they are hardly an accurate picture of what India was under their rule from the point of view of the natives.

The climax of the story, where Anjali is to be sacrificed on her husband's pyre, is particularly galling. Modern research has conclusively shown that sati was never the pervasive evil in India that the British made it out to be. After all, when Anjali's father dies his wife is under no compulsion to commit sati. Certainly a few stray cases were reported, but its banning in the 19th century was glorified by the British out of proportion to its actual practice. In abolishing sati the British found the most dramatic excuse to justify their rule in India. Now they could demonstrate that the natives were under the thrall of the most vicious social superstition and prejudice. British rule was absolutely necessary to civilise them and 'raise' them above their fallen ways.

M.M. Kaye was a talented writer but a product of her times. Ashok, her hero, could not really be entirely native. He had to be redeemed by having English blood even if for a while his upbringing was native. Anjali, the heroine, could not be just an ordinary Indian woman. She had to be a princess with royal blood to fall in love with Ashok. The romance is pretty if one is willing to float along this world of make believe.

The truth is that The Far Pavilions is a readable romance that gives to itself a coloured-and sometimes even naïve-background of history. The musical cannot be expected to rise above this basic shortcoming. But, if we are to ignore this foundational lacuna, it does make for an enjoyable evening.

(A Stephanian, Pavan Kumar Varma is a senior Indian diplomat and presently Minister of Culture and Director of the Nehru Centre in London. Author of several widely acclaimed books likeGhalib: the Man, the Times and the recently released Being Indian, he will be writing the column Hyde Park Corner, exclusively for HindustanTimes.com)