Further evidence of how theatre today can comment on sensitive political issues that cinema just cannot — because of its dependence on commercial security — appears in two original Bengali plays. In fact, I wish the young dramatist-directors pushed the envelope more explicitly here, riding the courage to change the imperfect world that one always associates with youth, like our Republic Day bravery heroes or Sharif Kutty who wrestled down the rogue Pune busman.

In Chokh’s Anagata, Abhijit Kargupta, whose in-depth and impartial knowledge of modern politics from Marxism to Gandhism impresses me, subtly appeals for West Bengal to reject the cult of violence and retribution. He seeks a safe house in Calcutta for a Maoist leader requiring medical attention, not surprisingly facing unwillingness from most quarters. A young couple agrees, despite the hesitation of the husband (a former sympathizer, now established). The wife, brought up privileged, shows greater openness and grabs the opportunity to learn about the movement and its theory from her guest. In turn, we notice the latter almost imperceptibly leaning toward Gandhian views. I think this unusual conversion needs clearer stating than Kargupta implies, for mainstream audiences may miss the signposts in the dialogue and conclude that he supports Maoism.

He directs some convincing scenes, as in the Coffee House opening, or the street-corner chai shop serving lumpen promoters and an older resident (picture). The three principals (Chandrasekhar Acharya, Nilanjan Saha, Nibedita Kargupta) act in character, as does Sandhya Dey (a Mahasweta Devi-like senior activist). But the romantic triangle that develops, and its unnecessary consequence symbolizing an uncertain future, deviate from Kargupta’s realistic plot and keen intellectual argumentation.

Symbolism turns allegorical in Nat-Ranga’s Beokuf Ek Chand, which advocates ahimsa too. Through this serious and extremely difficult project, Sohan Bandopadhyay addresses specifically the Muslim community (and generally everybody), to embrace the path of peace. But with a storyline in which the hero promises the moon to his lover, and a cast with names such as Larai, Jhagra, Hanahani, Sumati, Bhagya-nadi, Batas, Dharitri, Gachhgachhali, and antagonists like Rahu and Shani, one ruefully wonders whether this morality play can find easy comprehensibility and ready acceptance.

Even though Bandopadhyay creates intriguing characterizations — a hermaphroditic Batas, a humpty-dumpty Rahu, a blindfolded Shani — and designs brilliantly colourful sets and costumes, the production remains decidedly grim. The acting ranges from realism for the human Beokuf (Arindam Chatterjee) to exaggeration for the personified abstractions. Most distinctively, Bandopadhyay deploys imagery and vocabulary suggesting middle-eastern folklore.