Kashibai Peshwe

Part 23- Young buds on the vine

The adept fingers of the tabalji maintained the beat on the two single headed drums- the slimmer tabla and the wider kettledrum shaped dagga.  As he vocalised the mnemonic syllables of the "bol" the patter of young feet, weighed down with the traditional brass ankle bells called ghungroo, tried to keep pace.

dha dhin dhin da   I   dha dhin dhin dha

na tin tin ta              I   ta dhin dhin da

 Ta thei thei tat....Aa thei thei tat....Ta thei thei tat...As thei thei tat

If the footwork was not matched to the "bol" the errant kathak trainee was made to practice it until the rhythmic pattern became a natural extension of herself.

"Listen carefully, and now move your feet in the correct order!" The ustad directed the bevy of girls to fall in with the tempo as it progressed gradually from the slowest vilambit, to the madhya and then to the fastest drut laya.

Ta - Strike the right foot
Thei - Strike the left foot
Thei - Right again
Tat - Left           Aa - and left again

Thei - Right

Thei - Left

Tat - Right      Ta - Right

Thei - Left
Thei - Right
Tat - Left
Aa - Left

Thei - Right

Thei - Left

Tat - Right

Bahut acchey, now once more!" The ustad encouraged his young charges. 

"Keep your bodies upright. A kathak artiste does not sway her hips or her waist tantalisingly like a nautanki performer. The gestures and expressions should be subtle, the eyes must create a sense of allure, not tease the spectator! The bells on your ankles should communicate more than your body language!" The instructions from Nikhat exuded the confidence that came from her years of experience. It was important for the girls to absorb the message. The veneer of respectability was vital to set them apart from gaudily clad street dancers who were showered with coins by raucous audiences during their performances. A true artiste received her honorarium in a far more dignified fashion. 

The practice session continued well into the afternoon until the tunics of the preteen girls were soaked with perspiration. Their lower bodies were sheathed with churidar tights that were comfortably wide around the hips but narrowed down toward the ankles revealing the graceful contours of their well toned legs. The girls tried to mopped off the sweat with the end of their muslin dupattas and massaged the soles of their bruised feet. Every now and then little iron balls fitted into the brass bells to make their sound, slipped out and rolled around on the floor. They could hurt the dancer's feet badly if they stamped on them with sufficient energy.

"Ustadji, I think the girls have earned themselves a break!" Nikhat Aapa, the constant companion of the girls, called her handmaid to bring forth earthen pitchers of cooled bael sherbet as refreshment on the hot summer day. 

Nikhat, a retired but accomplished artiste herself, was the girls' custodian during their school years. Each girl entered the facility at a tender age of four or five years. Most of them were born to mothers who professed the performing arts and so were naturally destined to follow in their footsteps. Some were orphans abandoned by unwed or widowed mothers. Other orphans had been disposed of by their extended families who were unwilling to pay for their upkeep and their dowries. 

However the most striking ones among the girls would materialise at Nikhat's doorstep quite mysteriously. There were rumours about them being procured by agents after they had been abducted from fairgrounds or shrines during festive times, or even being taken forcefully from their mother's arms by armed bandits who robbed travelling caravans. When the children had calmed down sufficiently they were bathed, clothed and plied with the choicest of sweetmeats for a few months until they no longer remembered their past and thus could be initiated into the school effortlessly.