Summary
Act One (Continued)
The Bhagavata sings of the two friends and the woman who came between them. The Female Chorus joins him.
Devadatta enters, lost in thought. Kapila follows, and asks Devadatta why he did not come to the gymnasium, where he engaged in a fantastic, impromptu wrestling match. He then sees Devadatta is not listening and seems flustered. He asks who it is this time, implying a girl, and Devadatta blushes and asks how he knew. Kapila smiles that he has seen Devadatta fall in love fifteen times before.
Devadatta waxes poetic about this new one, annoyed that Kapila is seemingly mocking him. Kapila soothes him, telling him he’d do anything for him and he has learned so much from him. Devadatta is still querulous and tells him to go back to his smithy. Hurt, Kapila starts to go, but Devadatta tells him to sit down.
Devadatta begins to describe the woman, whose “beauty is as the magic lake” (84). He thought he knew poetry before her, he sighs, but he did not. She has become “my guru in the poetry of love” (85) but he wants her in real life as well.
Kapila muses privately that this actually seems new, and asks the girl’s name. Devadatta does not know, and is anguished that he is not good enough for her anyway. Kapila tells him any parent would want him, and he is the catch of the city. Devadatta is not consoled, and cries desperately. He feels his poetry cannot live without her and he has no future.
When Devadatta mentions the street she lives on, Pavana Veethi, Kapila immediately decides he will go there and find out her name and woo her for his friend. Devadatta cannot remember many details about the house he saw her go into, but Kapila bounds away anyway.
Once he is gone, Devadatta marvels at what a good friend Kapila is. However, he also thinks Kapila is too rough, too “indelicate” and maybe “the wrong man to send” (87). He prays to Lord Rudra and Kali. Meanwhile, Kapila marvels at the extravagant houses of merchants on the street. He knocks at the door of one and Padmini answers. She is startlingly beautiful and Kapila understands what Devadatta feels. He asks whose house this is and Padmini asks who he is looking for. They go back and forth and Padmini asks why he has been going up and down the street looking at houses. She whispers that there have been many thefts recently and he should be grateful she does not call the police.
Kapila becomes desperate, as he does not know how to formulate his questions, and knows he has to find out her name. He begs her and says he will touch her feet. She eagerly perks up and says no one has ever touched her feet though she’s touched everyone’s in the house. Kapila is shaken by her boldness and she scoffs that she knew he would not do it.
Finally she simply asks what he wants and Kapila asks if she has heard of the Revered Brahmin Vidyasagara. She replies it is possible, and he continues by mentioning the son, Devadatta, a delicate and handsome poet and pundit. He says he is the greatest friend in the world to him. Padmini knows what is happening, and blushes, calls for her mother, and runs inside. Kapila follows her, knowing he has to talk to the family, but privately thinking she is too fast and too sharp for the likes of Devadatta.
Bhagavata explains that Padmini is the daughter of the leading merchant in Dharmapura. The house is full of wealth and learning. She does indeed marry Devadatta and moves into his home. Devadatta owes Kapila a debt and their friendship flourishes as never before.
Devadatta and Padmini enter. They are preparing to go on a trip with Kapila, but Devadatta is unsure he wants Padmini to go because she is with child. She scoffs at him, saying he acts like she is the first woman to ever get pregnant. She then wonders where Kapila is, just as Devadatta is chiding her for her propensity to chatter and drool over Kapila all day.
Padmini stops short and asks what he means. Kapila is his friend, after all. Devadatta says that Kapila should see that he is married now and cannot drop in whenever he wants. Padmini tells him not to blame her, and that she thought it was good Kapila came over the other day to learn poetry from him. Devadatta sighs that he is not blaming her and Kapila is more like a brother than a friend. He wonders, though, if it is wrong to want some time with just the two of them, husband and wife.
Padmini asks if he is jealous of Kapila. Devadatta is annoyed at this and she laughs and tells him not to sulk. Padmini tells him she knows he is liberal and openhearted and could never get jealous; in fact, if she died tomorrow he wouldn’t care. Devadatta is shocked and Padmini apologizes for saying whatever comes into her head. Finally, Padmini comforts Devadatta by saying he is her everything and Kapila is just an innocent and a baby. They both laugh in recognition of this.
Devadatta wonders, though, if she does not see how Kapila looks at her. He tells her that Kapila is not used to women. She wonders if he means Kapila is dangerous, which makes Devadatta mad. She tells him the trip can be canceled, and they will spend the day together and go to Ujjain some other time. Devadatta is excited to hear this and starts to think about how they will spend the whole day by themselves.
Kapila arrives and Padmini tells Devadatta to tell him the trip is off. She stands hidden in a corner. Kapila is excitedly talking but Devadatta cuts him off and tells him their trip is canceled. Kapila is very distressed and wonders what he is to do now, and why it feels like the “whole world has been wiped out for a whole week” (94).
As he glumly prepares to leave, Padmini rushes in and asks why they are both sitting there, as it is time to go. Devadatta is stunned and Kapila looks to Devadatta. Padmini brusquely pushes them to get ready. She tells Devadatta quietly that Kapila looked so lost and disappointed. Devadatta thinks to himself that his own disappointment does not seem to matter to her.
The three of them set out. Padmini is in a vivacious mood, praising Kapila’s driving and comparing it to Devadatta’s. The two of them are laughing as Devadatta sulks. Padmini asks Kapila about a pretty tree up ahead and he explains that it is the Fortunate Lady’s flower, which means a married woman. When Padmini asks what he means, he does not hesitate and leaps out of the cart. She marvels at how he climbs so vigorously, how his muscles ripple. He looks like a Celestial Being. Devadatta thinks how this is the first time she’s been silent since they started, but he can see Kapila’s muscles and understands her desire. No woman can resist Kapila, and he must strangle his agony and not be a coward. Padmini wonders how long she can go on like this. Her eyes meet Devadatta’s, and they both look away. Kapila comes back with many flowers and shows her the parts pf the flower that has "all the marks of marriage a woman puts on" (97).
Devadatta wants to continue on their path, but Padmini wants to stay. She becomes excited when Kapila says there is a temple of Rudra nearby. He says it is dilapidated now, but the Kali one nearby is even worse. Padmini wants to look and Devadatta mournfully tells the two to go ahead. Padmini is annoyed at his tantrum and Kapila does not know what to do.
The two eventually walk off to the temple and Devadatta stays behind. He wishes for courage and decides to walk to Kali’s temple. He asks for forgiveness from her once he gets to the temple, and finding a sword there, strikes off his own head in anguish.
Padmini and Kapila return to the cart. They do not see Devadatta and Padmini scoffs at how worried Kapila seems about him. Kapila rushes off to find him while she waits.
He finds his decapitated friend and moans that he does not know why Devadatta was so angry, and how he could forget that Kapila loved him and would do anything for him. He picks up the sword and claims they can be brothers in the next world. He strikes his own head off.
Padmini grows weary of waiting for the men and walks to the temple in the dark. She calls their names and then stumbles over the bodies. She is shocked and cries out she does not know what to do. What will she tell people? They will be bound to say these men killed themselves for her. She decides she must die as well, and picks up the sword.
As she is about the kill herself, the goddess’ voice sounds out and tells her to put down the sword. Padmini is frightened, especially when the curtain reveals the terrifying goddess. Her mouth is agape, but she is actually just yawning. Padmini rushes to her feet and prostrates herself.
Kali sleepily sighs that yes, it is she, and asks what Padmini wants because she is pleased with her. She tells Padmini to put the heads back on their bodies and be done with it. Padmini has a question and asks, if the goddess knows everything, and the “past and future are mere specks in your palm” (102), then why did she not spare the men so Padmini would not have to go through this? Kali is surprised and amused by her selfishness, and replies that the men were annoying her because Devadatta prayed to Rudra and Kapila died right in front of her for his friend without even referring to her. She tells Padmini to do what she said.
Padmini puts the heads back on their bodies but in the dark accidentally mixes them up. She presses the sword on their necks, does namasakra, and readies herself. Drums sound and the goddess disappears. The dead bodies begin to stir and sit up, their movements mechanical at first.
They realize that their heads are on the wrong bodies and ask Padmini what happened. She is flummoxed and apologetic, but they all begin to laugh and dance around. They know no one will believe them but they do not care, and happily decide to head back home.
Their bliss fades once they realize it is unclear with whom Padmini should go home. Devadatta (this refers to Devadatta’s head on Kapila’s body) says the head is the “sign of a man” (106) but Kapila (this refers to Kapila’s head on Devadatta’s body) says this hand married her, and this body lived with her. Devadatta says a person marries a person, not a body, and that “Of all the human limbs the topmost—in position as well as importance—is the head” (107). Padmini is convinced by Devadatta’s arguments and wants to go with him.
Kapila steps between them and Devadatta pushes him away. Kapila exults that clearly this is not Devadatta because he is using force and never would have acted like this. Kapila angrily tells Padmini he knows she wants Devadatta’s head and Kapila’s body, and Devadatta himself says this makes sense.
Padmini cries that they must get rid of the scoundrel, and Kapila yells that they will have to kill him first before they ever escape him. They cannot figure out what the solution to this is.
Bhagavata interrupts and says this is indeed a dilemma, and a deep and perplexing problem whose “answer must be sought with the greatest caution” (108). He tells the audience to take a ten-minute break and ponder this, and then come back with solutions.
Analysis
From the very beginning of the main plot, it is clear that Devadatta and Kapila are intended to be complements of each other. One is fair, slender, and an intellectual; the other is brawny, dark, and disinclined toward scholarly pursuits. Devadatta is the head and Kapila is the body, and Padmini, the third member of this trio, wants both. This main plot along with the sub-plot of Hayavadana makes it abundantly clear that the play is a meditation on identity—fragmented identity, completeness, complete selves, etc. What makes a person—the head or the body?
Padmini is not representative of either the head or the body. She seems to be the most complete and complex of the trio; critic Maria-Sabrina Draga Alexandru writes, “Padmini, the only character in the trio who wears no mask, is also the most complex one in the play, to the point where the two male characters and the events in which she is involved can be read as projections of her desires, of her confusion, of the cataclysmic changes in her perceptions.” She is onstage throughout almost every scene and her lack of mask implies that we are to perceive Devadatta and Kapila through her eyes. Alexandru adds, “whilst Karnad’s interest in psychology and character development is arguably a borrowing from Western theatre, his use of myth acts as an important reference point. The theatrical universe is also subordinated to the changes occurring in Padmini’s consciousness.”
Padmini is also a notable character for what Karnad does with her gender. Yes, she is a typical Indian woman in that she marries, has a child, and, strikingly, commits sati at the end. Yet that is where Padmini’s embodiment of tradition and oppression ends. She is witty, sharp, selfish, and authentic; she is openly concupiscent and sensual. Critic Aparna Bhargava Dharwadker focuses on the attitudes toward gender that Indian playwrights, who in this era of Hayavadana were typically male, possess. In the “theatre of roots,” we see the move “out of the urban social-realist mode into the antimodern, antirealistic, charismatic realm of folk culture” as a conduit to female characters’ more subversive speech and subtle challenging of traditional gender roles.
Dharwadker identifies the following elements as part of this observation: “women in these works are objects of desire as well as desiring subjects, and they want something other than what society has ordained for them. The very presence of such desire violates the norms of feminine behavior and disturbs established notions of propriety. Second, women succeed in their quest because of the interchangeability of male partners…there is no unique male self to which the woman owes fidelity—a notion that questions the principle of male proprietorship and hence undermines a basic premise of patriarchy. Third, while realist drama emphasizes and often romanticizes the maternal roles, folk narratives stress the feminine, but not necessarily the maternal.” Women like Padmini are “self-possessed and vocal,” pursue their desires but sometimes “[destroy] her male partner (lover or husband) in the process.”
One of the ways that Karnad explores these aspects of Padmini’s subversiveness is through the Female Chorus, which Amara Khan deems Padmini’s “mask.” The Chorus “gives voice to the desires and feelings of Padmini who becomes a doubly oppressed subject by colonialism and patriarchy in India. Karnad through this mask for Padmini not only exposes her subalternity but also fuses energy in her life so that she can speak her heart out. Karnad, therefore, shifts Padmini’s position from the margin to the centre.” Mohit K. Ray agrees, explaining that “the chorus in Hayavadana is not the voice of traditional wisdom as in Greek plays but only an externalization and objectification of the passionate feelings of Padmini and it merges with the protagonist as an integral component of the character. The Female Chorus’s most frequent refrain is this—“Why should love stick to the sap of a single body? When the stem is drunk with the thick yearning of the many-petalled, many-flowered lantana, why should it be tied down to the relation of a single flower?...I have neither regret nor shame” (132)—which aptly expresses Padmini’s unwillingness to remain confined within the mental, sexual, or literal bonds of marriage to one man.
