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'Public Women': Early Actresses of the Bengali Stage—Role and Reality
Author(s): RIMLI BHATTACHARYA

Source: India International Centre Quarterly , Winter 1990/1991, Vol. 17, No. 3/4, The
Calcutta Psyche (Winter 1990/1991), pp. 142-169
Published by: India International Centre
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23002458
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Phot credit:NatyaShodhSansthan
Golap (Sukumari Dutta)

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RIMLI BHATTACHARYA
'Public Women': Early Actr

Stage—Role and Real
(Women) Readers:
At a sudden glance, a pair ofmishapen eye

pleasure. Why (is that so)? Their only contr
the many different kinds of ornaments? T
delightful to all and the second, that wh
understanding. Light (understanding) whi
enough for happiness. Sisters! What is t
educated and progressive: of what kind
minds, minds that have been informed by
for the amusement of the self, the seco
worlds. Then, is it the first that you desir
cannot stoop so low...
From the Preface entitled Agradrish

by Sukumari Dutta (Golap) P
Like to a woman's youth is your pride:

There will be love for as long as there is h
How carelessly did you give away your h
How little you knew the ways of this wil
From the poem Kusum o Bhramar (T

Bee) by Tarasundari Dasi, Publis
These are only the shadows of an unfortu

in this world for me but everlasting despair,
sorrow. There is none in this world befor
for the world sees me as a sinner—a fallen
no friend—none in this world I may call my
has granted the great and the small, the wi
experience joy and sorrow, and who in orde
karma, has also given me the power to fee

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144 / RIMLI BHATTACHARYA
has not given me anyone to whom I may recount my sorrows and who may
comfort me. For I am a social outcaste—a despicable prostitute. Why should
people feel compassion for me? Before who shall I make known the anguish of
my heart? I have therefore put pen to paper ...
From the Preface to her autobiography Amar Katha (My Story)

by Binodini Dasi, First published in 1912.
appeal to the reader surfaces despite the rhetoric and

compels a second reading. These disparate sounding
Theatrical?authorship,
Perhaps. In each instance
fragments share not only the common bond of female
but more poignantly, represent the voices of however, the direct
some of the most successful professionals in the recent urban history
of India. Sukumari Dutta originally Golapsundari (1857-1910),
Binodini Dasi (commonly referred to as Nati Binodini) (1863-1941)
and Tarasundari (1878-1948) were all stage actresses who were
among the most celebrated stars of their times. Their brilliance
brought them money and fame, and even critical acclaim; but they
were never allowed to forget their obscure prostitute origins and
their continuing status as 'public women'.
Intertwined in the history of public theatre1 in Calcutta are the
life stories of these actresses. They are women who came from the
backstreets of the city, what their biographers discreetly refer to as
the anonymous and forbidden quarters, and who then proceeded to
occupy a centre stage position in the glare of the footlights. Their
careers began with the rise of the professional theatre in Bengal in
1872 and continued upto the early decades of the present century.
They belong to the first phase of public theatre, sometimes referred
to as the golden age of Bangla drama2 or Girish Yug after
Girishchandra Ghosh, for his outstanding contribution to the stage
as actor, director, playwright and teacher. Girish Ghosh along with
his equally talented contemporaries, Ardhendushekhar Mustafi,
Amritalal Basu, Amritlal Mitra, are quite appropriately celebrated
as the founding fathers of Bengali theatre.
We attempt within the brief compass of this essay to highlight
some of the significant aspects of the lives—personal and public—
of four among the early actresses who were equally committed to
this founding process and involved in the crafting of the 'golden

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Early Actresses / 145
age'. We consider the interpenetrative nature of events in their lives,

the diverse roles they played on stage, the roles assigned to them by
society and finally, the recurrent self-images that may be traced in
the little that exists by way of their own writings. To the actresses
named at the beginning of this section we add the name of Teenkori
Dasi (1870-1917) as the fourth member of the cast.
In 1795 the first Bengali play was produced by the Russian
litterateur-entrepreneur Gerasim Lebedev. With the help of his
Bengali teacher, Lebedev translated an English play Love's Disguise
into Bengali; the advertisement emphasized that "performers of
both sexes" were going to act. Little is known about the women who
took part in the play, except that they performed well. Lebedev's
pioneering effort was sabotaged, but from the 1930s onwards,
private theatre groups patronised by landowners and the gentry
began producing plays. Invariably, they relied on men to play
women's roles. An exception was Vidyasundar staged in the home of
Nobeen Kumar Basu in 1835. A contemporary newspaper article
informs us that:
The female characters in particular were excellent. The part of Bidya

.. played by Radha Moni... a girl of nearly sixteen years of age... filled
the minds of the audience with rapture and delight
The reviewer expresses his surprise "that a person, uneducated

as she is, and unacquainted with the niceties of her vernacular language
should perform a part so difficult with general satisfaction" (emphasis
mine). He goes on to suggest:
Had this girl, who made such a capital figure on the stage, been
educated in the study of the vernacular language, I, as a Hindu, beg
my countrymen to consider how her talents would have shown! Was
not her ingenuity, though she spoke only by rote, sufficient to convince
those who charge Nature being partial to men that Hindu females are
as well fitted to receive education as their superior lords.3
An answer to his speculations was to come several decades

later, when Michael Madhusudhan Dutt insisted on actresses for his
play Shormistha which was to be produced by Bengal Theatre in 1873.
Among the other enthusiasts of the public theatre was Pandit
Vidyasagar who saw in the stage an appropriate public platform for
spotlighting social issues and for advocating social reform.4 Since no

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respectable women could be found to perform in public, only

prostitutes or 'nautch girls' (terms usually used interchangeably)
could be recruited for the stage. Vidyasagar quit his association with
the stage over the induction of actresses. It may be noted that after
Vidyasagar's death in 1891, Tarasundari took part in a special
memorial function to honour the great man and enacted "most
movingly" the part of janani banga bhasha, i.e. Mother Bengali
Language.5
Vidyasagar notwithstanding, the decision to use actresses was
soon implemented. The first four actresses to be recruited by a public
theatre, the Bengal theatre, wereGolapsundarai, Elokeshi, Jagattarini
and Shyamasundari. The National and Great National Theatres
realized that they must perforce also hire actresses if only to keep up
with the competition. For their next play, Sati ki Kalankini (Sati or
Sinner) the Great National inducted five actresses, namely Rajkumari,
Haridasi, Jadumoni, Kadambini and eventually, Binodini. Their
singing and dancing talents were well suited to the kind of geetinatyas6
that were in vogue. These were all plays centred on the heroine and,
with the advent of the actresses, proved to be instant box-office
draws.7
While the response to amateur theatre had been mildly

patronising and indeed quite positive, the professionalization of the
stage with the hiring of actresses provoked a spate of letters, editorials
and speeches at public meetings, which continued well into the first
half of the present century. The central thrust of the attacks was
obviously the low class and the loose morals of the actresses.8 The
greatest fear was that they would corrupt the youth of Bengal. While
the conservatives did not succeed in banning plays as had happened
on several occasions in the history of English drama,9 most notably
during the Cromwellian regime, there was a constant fussilade—
sometimes bitter and often ludicrous—directed against the actresses.
The real problem was that public theatre was apparently
erasing the boundaries of the bhadra and the abhadra. Other forms of
rural-based or popular entertainment had traditionally encouraged
the free mixing of sexes and had permitted a certain carnivalesque
license in their forms and language. With the tightening grip of
Western education and the transmission of Victorian values,
traditional or popular entertainment was kept strictly out of
respectable homes.10
Theatre companies faced greater hostility when travelling out

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of Calcutta, whether it was to Dhaka or to outlying Serampore.11 A

substantial section of the audience for public theatre has traditionally
comprised visitors from out of Calcutta; theatre was the biggest
attraction among other 'sights' that the city had to offer. At the same
time, for many middle-class Bengalis the sins of Babylon had to be
contained (and enjoyed) in Babylon.12 When touring companies with
actresses performed outside of Calcutta, they appeared to encroach
on 'home ground'.
f I ! he staging of Shormishta in 1873 had begun a new era. Golap

later known as Sukumari Dutta, was one of the first four
JL women to join the stage as a professional actress. Her entry
into acting provides a sketch of the route to stardom. Golap, whose
quick ear and musical voice combined with good looks, was early
recognised as a talented singer and was sent to Calcutta by her
mother for training in kirtan singing. While she did not excel in
kirtans, she sang well enough to come to the notice of Sarat Chandra
Ghosh, one of the co-founders of the Bengal Theatre. When he
opened his theatre and decided that female roles had to be acted by
women, Golapsundari was the first person he sent for.
Binodini, who came a year later (1874), was initiated by
Gangabai, a baiji who later became known as the singer actress
Gangamoni. An orphan herself, Gangabai lived in a rented room in
the Binodini household. She was Binodini's early role model as a
child Binodini admired her, and in her later years spoke of her with
love and regard in her autobiography.13 In turn, Binodini, by the
time she was an established 'heroine', introduced Tarasundari, then
aged seven to the stage.
The many babus (clients) who patronised the women of these
anonymous quarters often played the part of the unofficial agent or
middleman in enabling the aspiring young singer or dancer to try
her luck on the stage. Teenkori a starstruck little girl who fought
determinedly to be an actress, was given an opportunity to audition
through the kind offices of a babu connected with the theatre. As
public theatre became more 'established', so did the links between
the stage and the wouldbe actresses. Agents regularly scouted for
potential stars as well as for sakhis or chorus girls, familiar to us as the
'extras' of latter-day Hindi films.
In its early stages theatre was not glamorous or sufficiently

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Teenkori Dasi

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financially rewarding for mothers to encourage their daughters to

pursue acting as a profession. Teenkori's greatest obstacle to an
acting career was her mother's obsession with financial security. She
had 'fixed her up' with wealthy babus who were willing to pay her
mother Rs. 200 per month plus an extra hundred for the daughter,
only if she 'gave up theatre'. Teenkori stood up to the subsequent
physical and verbal abuse that followed as a result of her refusal to
give up acting. In the story of her life narrated to Upendranath
Vidyabhusan, one of the most sympathetic biographers, Teenkori
consistently goes back to those years of struggle.14
A number of these prostitutes owned houses, but often lived in
circumstances more wretched than their tenants. Extreme poverty
forced Binodini's mother to marry off her younger brother, to a little
orphan girl who bought in some gold ornaments as dowry. The
family survived for a while on the sale of these ornaments. At the
height of her fame, Binodini, then in her early twenties was offered
50 lakh in cash by Gurumukh Roy if she severed her connections
with theatre.15
But the home environment of Binodini, although marked by

bitter poverty was supportive in the bonds of close affection that
existed between mother, daughter and grandmother.16 The future
actresses usually grew up in female communities which depended
on men for their survival. Such communities did not marginalize the
girl child who was often regarded as a way out of poverty. As in the
case of Teenkori, girls were soon made aware of their 'worth' in
terms of the market value of their desirability. At the same time
accounts of their lives suggest a freedom of movement that was
denied to most bhadramahila of their time. If they had no access to
people's drawing rooms, the baithak-khanas or their inner quarters,
the andarmahal, at least they were not confined to these quarters as
were most genteel women of the period. Potentially most liberating
was the vast repertoire of roles, male and female, that might be acted
out. Besides a certain degree of economic independence, however
precarious, they enjoyed popularity, and the respect and admiration
of their males peers.17 These are not inconsiderable advantages.
However, as women they could not really move out from the
'assigned' social position into which they were born. The 'curse of
birth' of janmashap is, incidentally, the phrase most frequently used
even by the most compassionate of their colleagues while comm
enting on their achievements. At the most, they could aspire to be

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150 / RIMU BHATTACHARYA
mistresses of richer and more upper-class men, and a rare few

aspired to the status of a bhadramahila through marriage. They were
clearly beyond the pale of social reform movements like those
advocating widow remarriage or for women's education since these
were targetted primarily at middle-class women. Even their status
as wage earners through theatre work (monthly salaries and later,
bonuses) was never considered sufficient to assure their economic
independence. There was a constant pressure from their mothers
and other female relations to accept the status of a mistress, or
become an ashrita, literally to be "sheltered", of a rich upper-class
male, thus gaining a modicum of financial and social security.
However, such 'prizes' came with a price: the precondition to being
'protected' was retirement from the stage, or at least the forfeitment
of their professional status. Binodini relates in Amar Katha how she
was obliged to resort to duplicity in order to keep her babu happy: her
salary was paid secretly to her mother while she had to pretend to an
amateur status. Tarasundari too, repeatedly left off acting for the
same reason.
After marriage, the stipulations became even m

Golap quit the stage soon after she became Mrs. S
Binodini too gained the respectable status of a seco
had left the stage. Marriage or liasons with the rich,
lovers and husbands, did not ensure any economic
Binodini recounts the trauma of being threatened
babu whom she loved but who had eventually succu
pressure and married someone else. By the time h
'belonged' to another man to whom she had given h
was going to build their group a theatre over which
complete control. His response was to try and hav
and then in a truly dramatic 'scene' to threaten mu
spend over thirty years of married life with a
respected and loved her, but she was thrown o
immediately after her husband's death. Sukumari
the theatre after her husband's sudden departure
his subsequent death there. After abortive attempts t
company, Sukumari wrote a play called Apurva
staged in the Great National Theatre. Sushilabala (1
stage to live with Nagendranath, the scion of a rich
and a passionate lover of theatre. She spent the res
him, looking after him in his illnesses and turning to

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to make both ends meet.
Binodini, however, still had enough resources at the end of her

life to leave behind money for relations of her tenants. Teenkori died
a rich woman by any standards. She donated two of her houses to the
city for use as hospitals and left handsome amounts in cash for each
of her tenants.
On the basis of the careers of the few successful actresses
considered in this section, we might observe that while money and
fame did come their way, their lives were certainly not characterized
by the kind of upward mobility that brings social status and economic
security. There was, however, an undeniable movement of a different
sort, traces of which may be recovered from their own narratives.
The fine transition from 'understanding' a part to incarnating it in
person on the stage required sensibility and intellect, while the
representation of characters who lived in other worlds separated by
barriers of time, gender and class drew on a richness of imagination
that is truly enviable. The movement is one from a talented little girl
to an outstanding actress.
i | 1 he phrase parashona meaning "education" or "studies", literally

reading and "listening" comes to acquire a peculiar relevance
in the case of these women who were barely literate and
who rarely received any formal education.19 Binodini, for example,
who joined the stage at age seven, had attended at irregular intervals
a free school in the neighbourhood. The rest of her education was
acquired primarily during her full if brief career as an actress. Her
autobiography reads, stylistically, like the narrative of any other
upper-class woman.20 In addition, she wrote about her life as an
actress and twenty odd poems including a long narrative poem, all
of which were published in her lifetime.
Teenkori, also uneducated, could "read her part" as the phrase
runs in Bengali, but depended greatly on her memory and listening
ability to absorb the shades in a given role. Her audition for Girish
Ghosh, where she was tried out to replace Pramoda, a senior and
more experienced actress, required her to play Lady Macbeth in
Girish's Bengali adaptation of Shakespeare. In her words:
I came back home with the part (script). I couldn't sleep at all... I
stayed up all night and read the part about eight to ten times and learnt
it by heart. I had heard Girish Babu correct Promoda when she made

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152 / RIMU BHATTACHARYA
mistakes ... I remembered her mistakes and learnt to follow his

instructions...21
She passed the test with flying colours the next day and her
Lady Macbeth made critics refer to her as 'the Bengali Siddons'.
Most crucial to actresses like Binodini and Teenkori were the
regular 'reading sessions' that teachers like Girish Ghosh, Amritlal

Basu and Ardhendhu Shekhar Mustafi conducted, explicating the
subtleties of a particular character and situating the character within
his/her social and cultural context. Girishchandra not only
encouraged Binodini to see other dramatic performances, but also
insisted that she come back after the performance and offer a critique
of it. Her ' review' was then subjected to his critique. Binodini had
also heard from Girishchandra about the lives of other famous
English actresses. The relationship between the playwright, director
and actress was a complex one and it would perhaps be too simple
to say that the guru exercised only paternal authority. We return in
the final section of this paper to the class composition of the theatre
world and its effect on the women who conisdered it as their home.
Most of the women who joined theatre were already gifted
singers, although few had actually received training, as Binodini
had under Gangabai. Golap and Teenkori were among those who
had a natural singing voice and who went around picking up songs
from itinerant beggars and vaishnavis who frequented their streets.
Teenkori also had an exceptional memory and was able to reproduce
an entire song after she had heard it only once. Tarasundari was the
only one who sang tolerably well and actually had special voice
lessons with an ustad.22
In most cases, actresses entered the stage as little girls of seven

or ten years of age and then served a period of informal apprenticeship
from whence they graduated to more difficult roles and if
exceptionally talented, they became stars. Their first roles were
those of sakhis, companions to the heroine or little boys, in each case
quite distinct from a separate group called "ballet girls". Early roles
were very often non-speaking parts, requiring dancing or singing
and sometimes not even that. As one of their biographers records,
neither Teenkori, not Binodini nor Tarasundari had to serve a
lengthy period of apprenticeship. Binodini's was the most spectacular
leap from a sakhi in the first play to a nayika in the very second. She
was playing the lead role at such an early age that her mental and

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emotional maturity far outstripped her physical growth. It became

a veritable job having to make her up to seem a woman. In his preface
to her autobiography, Girish Ghosh observed:
she had to be dressed up in much the same manner as young boys

were made up in jatra to resemble mature women. But her intense
desire to learn and her keen intelligence made me feel that she was
destined to be a great actress in the future.23
Girish Ghosh's ability to spot and nurture talent was remarkable,

but no less remarkable was the distance traversed by the actresses
themselves during the course of their acting lives. They brought
alive before the public gaze the complexities of some of the most
'literary' heroines of contemporary novels—Bankimchandra
Chattopadhaya's Kapalkundala,Mrinalini and Bishbriksha were among
the first to be adapted for the stage. There were also the remote
historical personages like Rizya, Jijabai, and legendary, mythical
and divine figures who are household names in every Indian home
such as Sita, Sati (Siva's wife), Draupadi and Lakshmi. They often
produced mirror images of their contemporaries for satiric and
serious effects in 'social plays' and farces. They played young girls
and women, and men mortal and divine—the last ranging from a
Bhilboy, Tarasundari's first role, to that of Sri Chaitanya, made most
memorable by Binodini.
In geetinatyas they sang and danced and played the roles of
romantic heroines. They created characters who not only appealed
to the public imagination but often exceeded the dramatist, the
novelist and the director's conception of his own character —
Bankimchandra's Manoroma played by Binodini,24 Girish Ghosh's
reading of Lady Macbeth played by Teenkori or of Jona by
Tarasundari. It would not be an exaggeration to say that they 'blazed
new trials' and set standards for 'classics' that were reenacted by
subsequent generations.
occured frequently enough for actresses to be called after the

The interpenetration of the
former. Thus Golap was dubbed role
Sukumari and the person playing the role
immedi
ately after her resounding success as the heroine of that name from
the play Sarat Sarojini.25
It is clear that many leading female roles were actually conceived

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154 / RIMLIBHATTACHARYA
with a specific actress in mind. The director/actor/playwright's

intimate knowledge of the actress's capabilities, allowed him to
create characters calculated to best suit the physical appearance and
the acting prowess of a particular actress. It was surely no coincidence
for instance, that Sushilabala was cast as Jobi in Girish Ghosh's play
Balidan in 1905. In her own life Sushilabala was as much a radical as
the courageous young girl in the play.
An extreme instance of the splitting of selves occurred when an
actress played multiple and often contradictory roles in a single play
or in plays running concurrently. One of Binodini's earliest
performances was in the dramatized version of Madhusudhan's
Meghnad Badh where she played at least five different roles (those of
Pramila, Baruni, Rati, Mahamaya and Sita). Later, when she was
playing both Kanchan from Sadhabar Ekadoshi as well as 'Kunda'
from Bankimchandra's Bishbriksha, Binodini felt:
What a world of difference (between the two roles) whether in terms

of their nature or in terms of the dramatic action. It would be impossible
to describe the innumerable selves into which one must divide oneself
while acting. As soon as one brought to completion a particular bhava,

one was obliged to immediately summon another. This had become
natural to me. Even when I was not acting, I would forever be
immersed in a different bhavas.26
The role played most frequently and with very little variation
was a version of their selves—that of the prostitute, singer or
dancer—a coarser version of la belle dame sans merci. In the popular
imagination their acting prowess was seen as the continuum to the
deception or chalana and artfulness 'natural' to women of their
persuasion. In short, the skills of a more attractive prostitute was
seen as interchangeable with that of a consummate actress, with the
suggestion that manipulation or social control was in direct
proportion to a woman's facility in in 'practising her art'.27 The
observe side of the attack on babus who whiled away their time and
money on baijis was the representation of the 'other woman' as
mercenary, deceitful and quite heartless beneath her charms. They
lured respectable men away from the bosom of their family into debt
and a fate worse than death. Their 'active' role, usually in sharp
contrast to the passive suffering wife, was in fact taken as an
indication that they had lost true womanliness.
In Dinabandhu Mitra's Sadabhar Ekadoshi or "The Married

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Widow" (1866), a play which continues to be staged even today, the

role of Kanchan played at different times by Binodini, Teenkori and
others clearly suggests the separation of spheres that is a natural
corollary to the distinction between the woman as an active
manipulator and the woman as the silent sufferer. Atalbihari, the up
and coming rake is enamoured of Kanchan, a baiji. Other characters
repeatedly refer to his unhappy wife as "the wife, beautiful as a fairy
at home" or "such a precious Sita at home" (emphasis mine).
The ideology enshrined in space28 is made explicit in another
significant exchange between Atalbihari and Kanchan where she
rebukes her jealous lover:
Having you gone quite mad Atal! I'm not your wife (gharer tnaag) that
you should feel disgraced if I go sing in (somebody's) garden!
A desparate Atal replies: "I wouldn't have been so humiliated

if my wife (gharer maag) had gone off (left home)..The movement
by a woman from the inner to the outer sphere is in the nature of a
transgression and a clear violation of accepted social codes.
Stage actresses were therefore doubly damned since their
profession demanded a lifestyle that had little to do with the
respectability of desk work or housework and childrearing—sansar.
Paradoxically, their greatest strengths—an unconventional family
structure, the ability to defy authority if necessary, uninhibited
access to male company, the capacity for working late nights and
keeping irregular hours, touring the provinces and distant cities,
usually unchaperoned—only served to reinforce the sterotype of
'low class' women with no morals. Also, unlike typical 'bazar
women' who were secreted away to the bagan baris, the prototype of
today's farmhouses; or brought to jalsaghars, the music rooms of the
upperclass; or visited in houses bought specially for them, stage
actresss were women who actually appeared in public. They were to
be both despised and desired in a period of emerging capitalism and
specifically in the context of public theatre which was acutely
sensitive to consumer reaction. Commodities in every way, the
actresses soon became status symbols to be kept by babus (Teenkori's
case), zamindar/businessmen (as with Binodini) or maharajas (as
was Niharbala an actress from a later phase of Bengali drama).29
Deenabandhu had underlined this consumerism in Sadhabar Ekadoshi
when Atalbihari's boasts: "I've put Kanchanmoni (also meaning

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156 / RiMLI BHATTACHARYA
gold)—the chief thing (sic) in town, on my crown!"30

Despite the relative mobility, a certain measure of economic
independence, and the often powerful roles enacted by them (ranging
from Lady Macbeth, Medea, to Meerabai, Jona, Riziya and
Durgeshnandini), the actresses were ultimately bound by ties stronger
than that of money or professional success to a predominantly
middle-class ideology of domesticity. We might refer to this as a
combination of the Grihalakshmi/Annapurna ideal with the often
overlapping role of Sati.
It is surely no coincidence that 'Sati' recurs as the title of even
some of the earliest plays of the public theatre: Sati ki Kalankini (1874)
Atulkrisna Mitra's Adarsh Sati (1875) based on the story of Savitri
and Satyavan, and most significantly Apurva Sati, written by the
actress, Sukumari Dutta. We consider briefly in the following section
the extent to which dominant ideals of 'purity' and 'domesticity'
were internalised by the actresses themselves and their representation
of such ideals in their writings in an attempt to 'redeem' themselves.
business venture at a time of financial crisis, but it suggests an

Sukumari Dutta's
intense play was
awareness perhaps
of the written
conflicts primarily
of her own life as a
as a
prostitute-actress. The cover announces in bold letters, TRAGE

TRAGEDY! TRAGEDY! The heroine of her play is a prostitut
daughter who falls in love with the educated youth whom
mother has caught for her. The arrival of a rich man who is rate
a more desirable patron creates the real conflict in the play, T
heroine dies, true to her first love.
The plot summary may read like any one of a hundr
melodramas where true love is ranged against money, and o
generation against another. But juxtaposed against her own life
the lifes of the many women she worked with, Apurva Sati or
unique Sati does stand out—not only because its author belongs
the handful of women dramatists in the history of theatre. Th
overworked theme of love versus lucre has been chosen by a wo
whose 'image' is framed by the stereotype of the scheming charm
The conflict between mother and daughter gains a new dimens
because the daughter has some education and some aspiration
well; the liason with the rich man is a death sentence to such
aspirations. Within the framework of the 'serious social play', there

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was really no middle ground to be chosen by a woman in the

heroine's position.
More striking than the play is perhaps the preface which we
quote at the beginning of this essay. The complex construction of the
original is not just the labour of a self-taught writer trying to
establish her 'literary credentials'. The singling out of women readers
as the addressee along with the fact that Sukumari dedicated the
play to
The Benefactress of Bengali Vidya,

Maharani
Srimati Swarnamayi
clearly links the actress dramatist with her semi-educated heroine.

The appeal to the educated, upper class reader is also a warning, to
read between the lines and to delve beneath the image. The vocabulary
is that of one who is daily engaged in these very activities in order
to make illusion real. Sukumari turns towards both the reader and
spectator who would judge her as the mirror of their own selves.
Binodini too muses on the audience who came daily to exclaim
over her acting skills: "I have entertained the spectators ... Could
they ever know (say) what (anguish) lay within me?" The greatest
fear is that after years of performance in public, there is no one to
share her sorrow and to understand her. Amar Katha is therefore both
'her story' as well as 'her story'—a narrative where she, Binodini, as

opposed to the Kanchans, Cleopatras and Chaitanyas she played,
can finally speak as an individual woman.
We digress for a moment to suggest that the writings of the
actress are addressed to an audience in absentia, while the stage
performances had been for a visible public—an audience in presentia.31
The hypothetical audience predicated by the former, allows the
individual to be both distanced and personal. The writer, or in the
case of Teenkori, the narrator, may even create a new persona which
is partly conditioned by her other selves, the various social processes
we have outlined, and is partly in search of a way out of these other
selves. Certainly, Binodini's writings have a fierce tension running
through the various strands.
As an artist Binodini, as well as the other actresses, was fully
aware of her ability to transform a printed character to a flesh and
blood person on stage. Binodini is not averse to quoting from a few
contemporary reviews:

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But last not least what shall we say of Binodini? She is ... absolutely
at the head of her profession in India ... Her Mrs. Bilasini Karforma,
the girl graduate exhibited... an iron grip of... the Girl of the period
as she appears in Bengal Society. Her Chaitanya showed a wonderful
mastery...
But the footnote she hastens to add to the "rave review" reveals
the fragile composition of her self-worth:
I have never been very keen about reading criticism. I was afraid that
praise would make me proud and I would lose my powers. God in His
mercy has saved me... I used to feel just as lowly and despised then,
as I do now.32
The insistent refrain of khudra, meaning 'insignificant', as in

"my khudra life" or "khudra mind" or the reference to herself as a
"khudra streelok", is not merely the formality of a modesty topos
practiced by the 'superior' writer. A sense of failure haunted even
this most brilliant performer of the stage, and made her question
repeatedly her career and the reasons for her existence—Prabhu, keba
kar—My Lord, what is one (being) to the other? an echo of her
famous line from the play on Sri Chaitanya.
This sense of futility and desolation was not unique to Binodini.
Teenkori went through a similar crisis of faith, during one of her
periods of prolonged illness, when a complete rest from acting was
the only way to stave off terminal diabetes. She found in the words
sung by a passing vairagi an answer to her doubts:
Madhav! Let me be contended being completely devoted (as a sadhana)

to whatever work you have assigned me. Only grant me this, that I
may die working for you day and night, that I may never draw back
from work..
Cutting short the prescribed period of rest in Banaras, Teenkori

returned home and continued acting almost till her death.
It is not surprising that many actresses turned to religion at
various points in their career, not only because it is the prescribed
mode of retirement from the activities of the sansar, but also because
in their case it was in the nature of mandatory expiation. Teenkori
was remarkable in her resistance to this prescription. She had found
in the stage her teerthasthan or pilgrimage and continued to act for as

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long as she could. As a fairly prosperous woman in her later life she
chose not to have elaborate pujas at her home as her tenants suggested:
God has given us a lowly place as the lowliest of the low.... People
will only ridicule me... they'll say the wench (beti) is trying to make
money ... it's better that we unfortunates pray to him in our hearts.
34
Tarasundari's poems echo, as in the couplets quoted in the very

first section, the refrain of mortality common to much of the
Renaissance verse of Europe. But the mourning for a life 'ill-spent'
is juxtaposed with a tone of admonition and of warning to her
readers:
My life is a burning ground. I'd thought it was Paradise. Gone are my sins
now; New-born are my eyes.35
After the death of her son, Tarasundari too went off to

Bhuvaneshwar where she established a math. But financial necessity
obliged her to return to Calcutta and she resumed with great success
her career on the stage. The return to 'Kashi', as Banaras was referred
to by Bengalis, was frequently followed by a return to the manch, the
stage.36
The stage was, in fact, the only place where the actress really
belonged, but it was ultimately a world of make believe. 'Home', as
it was inscribed in the conventional value system, was out of bounds
for the actresses and invariably their efforts at sansar had an unhappy
ending. Their writings were, therefore, located in an alternative
sphere in an effort to break through the mutually exclusive realm of
the home and the world. To write, was also in some ways to grant
'reality' to the otherwise indeterminate limbo-like world of the stage
which did not have the legitimacy of any other designated work
place.
Binodini's writings are laden with images of the desert, the
quicksand, of mirages and dreams and of overwhelming darkness.
The titles of her poems read "Despair", "Hope", "Once More",
"Why should it be so?"' "The Sorrows of the Heart", "Repentance',
etc. Her reminiscences are vivid and often the stuff of drama, but
such sections are interspaced with passages of self-doubt and torment
and a feeling of insubstantiality.
There are times, however, when Binodini's autobiography

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becomes a strong defence, of herself, and of her 'class of women'.

Besides the section which deals with her version of the events which
lead to her quitting the stage while at the height of her powers, there
are constant invocations of her social identity in an attempt to
question her assigned role. Cutting through the dominant discourse
of "a barren existence" and of a "fallen woman", are sudden shifts
which are both questioning and assertive. One such section is when
she expresses her angier and grief at a society which did not permit
her daughter to attend any educational institution because of the
'sins of the mother'. Yet another section which could easily be
entitled "Who is to blame?" is addressed directly to a sympathetic
reader who can strip away the identities that have been composed
for "people such as herself":
. .. these unfortunate wretches may have had to become prostitutes

because of their circumstances, lacking shelter, lacking any other
protection. But they too came into this world with the heart of a
woman. They too belong to that tribe of women who are loving
mothers. They too belong to the tribe of women who leap into the
burning pyre (and die) with their husbands....
If the life of a prostitute is despicable, where does the stain of
impurity come from? .. .If it is God who decides our birth and death,
then surely they cannot be held responsible (for their birth)? . . .It is
worth considering who first made them despicable in this life?
The passage continues much in the same vein and concludes

with a bitter indictment of the social structure, particularly the
double standards granted to men, that Binodini sees as being
responsible for the position of 'unfortunates' such as herself.37
Binodini's autobiography reveals the extreme crisis of identity
that she and other actresses like her must have suffered. This had to
do not only with the pressures of her profession and her personal
tragedies, but with the peculiar configuration of class and gender
which made actresses a minority within a sub-group, both in terms
of their background as well as the world of the stage.
Although the theatre world of their times was influenced by
and, in turn, contributed to the dominant discourses of nationalism,
religion and women's emancipation, it possessed in many ways the
distinct characteristics of a sub-world.38 Like many pioneers, the
early professionals were filled with a sense of excitement about the
territory they were marking out. Their involvement and absorption

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in this new world only deepened with the social disapproval and in
many cases, the complete ostracism their profession invited.
The feeling of community and of 'belonging' emerges from
practically every written record we have, whether in the form of
memoirs, biographies, autobiographies or even obituaries. On the
death of Gangamoni, who has been mentioned in the first part of this
essay, Amritlal writes fondly: "Many were the ties that bound us
together—Friend, student and companion; I remember you well!"39
Binodini's narrative is interlaced with constant references to
the people who were kind to her, who went out of their way to
humour her and whom she regarded as family members. Their last
minute refusal to name their new theatre after her, and to call it the
Star Theatre instead of the proposed B. Theatre, hurt Binodini where
she was most vulnerable.
Despite the genuine camaraderie of the theatre world, however,
it was ultimately a divided arena. Most of the male theatre talents of
the time were people with education (including Western education)
and more importantly, men from the middle classes. If they were
seen as disreputable 'theatre types' who drank and womanised, they
were also perceived as being bohemian and even heroic. Feelings of
guilt, shame and despair along with a desperate need for redemption
appear to be the burden of the actress and not of the actor or the
director.
On Girish Ghosh's death in 1912, Norisundari (1877-1939) read
out a speech she had written in honour of her guru. Although she
was then at the height of a most successful career, Norisundari began
nevertheless with a little apologia: "You are aware that I have never
before made a speech in public. . ." The following excerpt reveals
explicitly the extent to which actresses perceived their roles as a
route to redemption:
Since my birth the wise have told me, that since you weren't born into
a family stamped as bhadra, (you) keep on sinning for the rest of your
life, while we continue to insult and despise you from the glory of our
virtue... But Girish Babu was not such a saint, he was a great man, and
that is why he gave us unfortunates, opportunities to utter in the
sweetest of language the name of God—as the madwoman of
Bilwamangal or as Nitai in Sri Chaitanya. I have been able to sing
Harinam by the grace of Girish Babu. I regard him not just as my guru
in drama, but as my guru in religion (dharmaguru) as well.40

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Phot credit:NatyaShodhSansthan
'Noti' Binodini

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The sense of achievement as actresses was constantly undercut

by the absence of having a place to stand, and a sansar to which they
could belong. Binodini's images of the mother as a true woman, or
a sati as a true woman has to be seen as part of the repertoire of
received roles within which they were obliged to construct their sense
of self. It is only when playing such roles that the actress was granted
a sense of fulfilment. No wonder then, that many of these early stars
did see the stage as the locus of dharma, while realizing at the same
time that socially, they were grounded, for life, in quite another
region.
It is possible that a century later, we continue to cast the
actresses in similar roles of performers who 'deserved' the
respectability accorded only by a middle-class home or sansar. If
Binodini is well known enough to be cited as one of Calcutta's proud
possessions, it is largely because she is seen to have redeemed/
raised herself by virtue of her encounter with Sri Ramakrishna. This
scene has been reconstructed in plays, biographies and popular
journalism until it has acquired the power of an exemplum.41 Recast
in the discourse of romantic redemption, Binodini becomes merely
a charismatic public referent and less entitled to our admiration,
sympathy and understanding as an actress and writer.
Ironically, the special space created for her only makes of her a
cult figure, effectively isolating her from the community of actresses.
The cult ignores her contemporaries, who were equally talented and
who faced similar contradictions between roles they were allowed
and expected to play and those that they wished to live. Iconizing
Binodini cuts the ground from under her feet and transforms her
into a symbolic lotus rooted in mud. The focus, however, remains
solely on the lotus.
The four women who have figured in this essay were certainly
different individuals who were unique in their talents; but they
came from a similar background and had a common profession. An
ideal epitaph for them could be lines from one of Binodini's poems.42
A ritual invocation or bandana is followed by a personal address to
Saraswati as Bharati. The poem is both an accusation and a plea:
You've created in me an ill-fated woman

Whom the three worlds call a sinner.
Desires cry out and die within; but to speak

Of my pain were to invite contempt.

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RIMLI BHATTACHARYA
Born in Bharat as .. . an unfortunate woman

Grant me grace, merciful Bharati.
In your worship, let my imagination blossom,
My desires awaken by your grace.
Notes
1 'Public Theatre' or the sadharan rangalaya as it is known in Bengali, is the term

used to distinguish the professional stage from the sakher theatre, patronized
by zamindars and maharajas and performed before an invited audience. Most
plays were adaptations of 'classic' Sanskrit drama.
The 'prospectus for a sadharan theatre' advertised in The Hindu Patriot in 1860
indicates the motivation behind the 'opening up' of theatre: "But as these
Amateur Theatres cannot be expected to be accessible and open to the public
at large (the very object in such cases being the entertainment of private
friends) a public theatre affording refined intellectual amusements and
instructive moral entertainments, calculated to improve and raise the national
character constructed on artistical principals is much to be wished for."
(emphasis mine)
Theatre as a nationalist project is aimed at the middle-class nabyashikhita, the
newly educated bhadralok, whose 'refined tastes' make jatra and other
indigenous performances quite unacceptable.
2. Abindra Chaudhury in his Bangalir Natya Charcha (Nath Brothers, Calcutta,
1972) dates 'the golden age' as one beginning from 1859-1919. Sushil Kumar
Bhattacharya in his Story of Calcutta Theatres (K.P. Bagchi & Co., Calcutta,
1982), has a chapter on "Public Theatres: Period of Birth and Growth" which
he dates 1872-1912.
3. Bhuban Mohan Mitra, "The Native Theatre" in The Hindu Pioneer, 1, No.2,
October 1835 in Nineteenth Century Studies, Alok Roy, ed., Bibliographical
Research Centre, Calcutta: 1974.
4. Women's issues had in fact earlier found a place on the stage in the Amateur
Theatre, when social reformers had advertised (The Indian Mirror, 1865) a
prize for the best play on "The Helpless Condition of Hindu Women".
5. In an exclusive article celebrating the 'return' of Tarasundari, the editor of
Naachghar recalled this performance: "in rendering her mourning song and
her elegaic lament... that young actress gave every indication of her skills (It
was) a sight that came alive before the audience, moving them to tears..
("Jagater Annatama Sreshta Abhinetri", Naachghar, No.8,1924, p. 5)
6. Geetinatyas are variously translated as melodramas, musicals, musical dramas
and song-based plays. It is worth tracing the trajectories between such
geetinatyas and the popular Hindi film upto the seventies of this century.
7. Amritalal Basu in his extremely informative and fascinating reminiscences
lists three main reasons for the introduction of actresses:
a. the male actors who had been excelling in women's roles were now getting on
in years and did not look good as women; they did not feel inclined to

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continue 'dressing up'.

b. while boys from outside the group looked right and acted well enough, they
were totally lacking in commitment.
c. most problematic of all was the absence of new plays ("the old ones had been
done to death"). Their was no choice but to run song-based (geet pradhan)
plays and at least for the time being, use actresses (emphasis mine).
Amritalal Basur Smriti Atmasmriti, Arun Mitra ed., Calcutta: 1982.
8. Amritalal Basu himself speaks quite honestly of his initial reaction: I was
under the mistaken belief, that considering the class of women the actresses
would be chosen from, they were bound to be licentious and indisciplined,
and even if able to sing and dance, would be quite incapable of doing justice
to the roles of superior women."
Unlike many others, he soon changed his mind: "But this belief was thoroughly
shaken within two weeks of their arrival. Their salary was extremely low
compared to the present rate, but the five actresses who first came to us—their
extreme desire (thirst) for proper instruction in all aspects of theatre, their
commitment and respect for the sanctity of the workplace, has obliged many
of us men, to take stock of our own 'character'. They (the actresses) have
frankly told us, 'You have rescued us from inexpressible suffering, by
opening up this new path for the oppressed...'" (Ibid. p. 198)
9. Interestingly, The Dramatic Performances Control Act, promulgated in 1876
had on the face of it, little to do with actresses; it was political censorship
aimed at muzzling farces and other kind of plays which "undermined" the
"dignity of the Crown". It would be reasonable to conjecture, however, that
theatre was successful media and a large part of this success (and the
perceived threat to the administration) was due to the presence and the talent
of the actresses.
10. See Sumanta Banerjee, The Parlour and the Streets: Elite and Popular Culture in
19th Century Bengal, Seagull, Calcutta, 1989.
11. Binodini's accounts of their early tours to the western part of the country—
Lukhnow, Delhi, Lahore—records the sense of adventure and the primarily
positive response that their performances evoked out of Calcutta. But she is
also speaking of a time when she had just joined and was everybody's little
pet. Other accounts suggest at best, a mixed response. For instance, in Dhaka,
the second largest city in Bengali-speaking Eastern India, there was a sustained
battle against actresses spearheaded by Brahmo leaders and college professors.
A news item in Amrita Bazar Patrika sought to reassure readers about
endangered morality: "The famous actress Srimati Sukumari Dutta is a
famous Brahmika (belonging to the Brahmo faith). A Brahmo youth has
married her in recognition of her extraordinary skills in acting and singing.
The same Sukumari Dutta has recently been brought here by Crown Theatre.
People have been overwhelmed by her acting and singing."
Dhaka, 2/6/895. Cited in Unish Shataker Dhakar Theatreby Muntasir Mamoon,
Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy, Dhaka, 1979.
The reaction was stronger in the outlying districts like Serampore, where a
performance by the touring Minerva Theatre in 1924 initially drew large

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crowds but was eventually 'boycotted' under pressure from the conservative
groups. See editorial in Naachghar, No. 11, Shraban 1331 which ridicules the
double standard of the 'saintly residents' of Serampore over this incident.
12. In his play, Sadhabar Ekadoshi, Dinabandhu Mitra focuses on the superficiality
and the degradation of the 'attractive' city through the character of the
provincial (here a Bangui) who comes to Calcutta and tries to be truly urbane
by doing all that his 'betters' do: "Why do you call me a Bangui—I've swilled
such rot (brandy) and I still don't get to be a Calcuttan! What haven't I done
like a Calcuttan—Gone to the whorehouse, worn fine Chikan dhotis .... I'd
better jump into the river..(p. 38).
Sadhabar Ekadoshi, Brajendranath Bandhopadhaya & Sajanikanta Das, eds.,
Bangiya Sahitya Parishat, Calcutta: 1970. All further references to the play are
to this edition.
13. Amar Katha Ananay Rachana, Soumitra Chattopadhay & Nirmalya Acharya
eds., Calcutta: 1987. (Henceforth Amar Katha) p. 17.
14. Upendranath Vidyabhushan, Teenkori, Binodini o Tarasundari, Calcutta, 1985,
pp. 104-118. (The biographies were originally published separately, as Teenkori
in 1919 and Binodini Tarasundari in 1920.)
15. Binodini dedicated her first book of poems Basana or Desire to her mother and
the long narrative poem Kanak o Nalini to her little daughter, Sakuntala Dasi,
who she lost when the girl was only thirteen years old.
16. Gurumukh Roy, a young Marwari businessman had offered to finance a new
theatre to this company of committed and talented theatre people who were
frustrated at having to work with incompetent and incomprehending managers
and owners. Binodini was persuaded, much against her inclination to agree
to Gurumukh's only condition, viz. Binodini be given to him in return for the
proposed theatre. There was also a clear understanding that in appreciation
of her sacrifice, the new theatre would be called the B. Theatre, after her name.
With the others, Binodini was totally involved in the construction of the new
threatre, even staying up nights to work on site. She learnt only after the
formal registration that the new theatre house was to be called the Star
Theatre. It was felt that naming it after her would run counter to public
opinion and might even invite a boycott. (Amar Katha ). The incident has
become the terrain of much controversy with scholars and commentators
taking sides for and against Binodini.
17. Among the many encomiums awarded to the actresses, the most significant
is that of Girish Ghosh's foreword 'Srimati Binodini and the Bengali Stage' to
her autobiography, and an earlier one entitled 'How to become a Great
Actress', to a proposed series on the actress's acting life, which later became
her part of her autobiography. Both these pieces are to be found in the
collected works of Binodini. (pp. 133-144) See also Girish Ghosh's introduction
to the poems of Binodini and Tarasundari published in Saurabh, the monthly
magazine founded and edited by Girish Ghosh.
Bipin Chandra Pal, referring particularly to Tarasundari, had written: "But
not merely in the reginement and delicacy of their deportment... but equally
also in the quality of their art, some of our actresses could well hold their own

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in competition with the best representatives of the British stage."

"The Bengali Stage" in The Hindu Review, February 1913, cited in Banglar Nat
o Nati, p. 87.
18. Some accounts (for example Atulkrishna Mitra's brief biographical sketch of
Sukumari entitled 'Probina o Nobina', Rangamancha, Sraban 1317, pp. 70-71)
hold that it was a collaborative effort, the co-author being Ashutosh Ghosh—
a young man who helped Sukumari start the acting company. Deb Narayan
Gupta in his Banglar Nat o Nati, credits only Sukumari with the authorship,
commenting on her fortitude and remarkable control of language. The play
has not been reprinted although a copy is available at Bangiya Sahitya
Parshad, Calcutta.
19. Sushilabala was an exception who studied upto 'Madhya Bangla' or Middle
School (approximately class VI). The rarity of formal education among stage
actresses may be underlined by the fact that when Kankabati Devi who came
from an upperclass family, joined Sisir Kumar Bhaduri's group in 1929, she
was billed as 'Kankabati Sahu, B.A.
20. On the acquisition of 'literary language' by women, see Sumanta Bannerjee's
essay on "Women's Popular Culture in Nineteenth Century Bengal",Recasting
Women: Essays in Colonial History, Kumkum Sangari and Suresh Vaid, eds.,
Kali for Women, New Delhi, 1989, pp. 163-64.
21. Upendranath Vidyabhushan, p. 127.
22. Jadumoni (1852-1919) was another outstanding singer whose mother had
been employed in the household of the Pathuriaghata rajas. Consequently,
she had received training under some of the best singers of the time. As
actresses, Jadumoni and her contemporary Narayanimoni, were less famous
than the quartet under discussion, but both were well known for their singing.
Two of Girish Ghosh's kheyals set to music by them were published in Saurabh.
23. Amar Katha, p. 143.
24. Ibid., pp. 36 & 54.
25. Individuals with similar names were often distinguished by the roles in which
they had excelled: the Kusumkumari who had sung memorably as Prahlad in
Prahlad Charitra, was subsequently called 'Prahlad Kusi' while the more
famous Kusumkumari (1875-1945) was called 'Morjina Kusum' after that
character in the Arabian Nights.
27. Quite apart from the body of non-Indian sources with the same conception,
there exist in the Jain narrative tradition a good many stories with precisely
the same stereotype of the actress/courtesan.
28. A short story 'Manbhanjan' or 'Victory' by Rabindranath Tagore reworks the
theme of the 'two kinds of women', when the wife becomes a successful
actress in retaliation to her husband's affair with in actress. The issue of
seperate spheres is explicitly problematized later in Rabindranath's novel
Ghare Baire.
See also Partho Chatterjee's essay on 'The Nationalist Resolution of the

Women's Question' which links the ghar/bahar dichotomy to the nationalist
ideology within which the 'women's question' was 'framed' and 'resolved'.

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Recasting Women: Essays in Colonial History, Kumkum Sangari and Sudesh

Vaid, eds., Kali for Women, New Delhi: 1989, pp.
29. See Deb Narayan Gupta's Rangamanche Teenkori' in (Shatabarshe Natyashala,
Ashutosh Bhattacharya & Ajit Kr. Ghosh, eds., Calcutta: 1973, pp. 334-335) for
an instance of murder and abduction planned by a babu to get Teenkori as his
mistress.
30. Sadhabar Ekadoshi, p. 15.

31. Ross Chambers, Story and Situation: Narrative Seduction and the Power of Fiction,
Manchester University Press: 1984, p. 220.
33. Upendranath Vidyabhusan, pp. 157-8.
34. Ibid., pp. 155-56.
35. The opening lines of 'Prabhaher Rupantar' or 'The Metamorphosis', published
in Saurabh in 1895.
36. Atul Krishna Mitra remembers a conversation with Sukumari a few years
prior to her death, when after 'retirement', she had once again started a drama
group and was continuing to finance it despite losses: "Why such madness at
this age?" he had asked. "What's to be done!" was her reply, "I can't sleep at
nights." 'Probina o Nobina.'
37. Amar Katha, pp. 61-63.
38. Utpal Dutt's Tiner Talwar (1973) seeks to bring out the mixed company that
made up this "casteless" community.
39. Amritalal Basu's Smriti O Atmasmriti, p. 21.
Another evocative memory is his account of a 'homesick' night spent out of
Calcutta during a tour of Bihar. Two actresses from the adjoining rooms begin
singing traditional Durga puja songs and make the night memorable for all the
other members of the troupe as well. (pp. 206-208)
40. Banglar Nat o Nati, pp. 130-31.
41. Besides biographies such as Deb Narayan Gupta's Nati Binodini: Manche o
Sansare (reprinted 1984) we have had Nandikar's production of Chittaranjan
Ghosh's play Binodini, and the very popular jatra, Nati Binodini by Brajendra
Kumar Dey. A film and recently, a T.V. serial on Binodini are also being
planned.
42. Basana in Nati Binodini Samagra Rachana, Ashutosh Bhattacharji ed., p. 84.
(All translations from the original Bengali are by the writer. Only a literal
rendering of the poems have been attempted.)
Bibliography
Bhattacharya, Ashutosh, ed.Nati Binodini Rachana Samagra, Sahitya Sanstha, Calcutta,

1987.
Bhattacharya, Ashutosh and Ghosh, Ajit Kumar, eds. Shatabarshe Natyashala, Jatiya
Sahitya Parishad, Calcutta, 1973.
Chattopadhaya, Soumitra and Acharya, Nirmalya, eds., Amar Katha o Ananyo
Rachana by Binodini Dasi, Subarnarekha, Calcutta, 1987.

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Das, Pulin, Banga Rangamanch o Bangla Natak, M.C. Sarkar and Sons Private Ltd,
Calcutta, 1983.
Ghosh, Ajit Kumar, Bangla Natyabhinayer Itihas, West Bengal State Book Board,
Calcutta, 1985.
Bangla Nataker Itihas, General Printers and Publishers Ltd., Calcutta,
1956,
Gupta, Deb Narayan; Banglar nat o Nati, Calcutta, 1973.
Mitra, Arun Kumar, ed., Amritlal Basur Smriti o Atmasmriti, Sahityalok, Calcutta,
1985.
Sangari, Kumkum and Jain, Suresh, eds., Recasting Women: Essays in Colonial History,
Kali for Women, New Delhi, 1989.
Vidyabhusan, Upendranath, Teenkori, Binodini o Tarasundari Roma Prakashani,
Calcutta, 1985.

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'Public Women': Early Actresses of the Bengali Stage—Role and Reality

Author(s): RIMLI BHATTACHARYA

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23002458

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Golap (Sukumari Dutta)

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'Public Women': Early Actr

At a sudden glance, a pair ofmishapen eye

From the Preface entitled Agradrish

Like to a woman's youth is your pride:

From the poem Kusum o Bhramar (T

These are only the shadows of an unfortu

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From the Preface to her autobiography Amar Katha (My Story)

appeal to the reader surfaces despite the rhetoric and

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age'. We consider the interpenetrative nature of events in their lives,

The female characters in particular were excellent. The part of Bidya

The reviewer expresses his surprise "that a person, uneducated

An answer to his speculations was to come several decades

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respectable women could be found to perform in public, only

While the response to amateur theatre had been mildly

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of Calcutta, whether it was to Dhaka or to outlying Serampore.11 A

f I ! he staging of Shormishta in 1873 had begun a new era. Golap

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financially rewarding for mothers to encourage their daughters to

But the home environment of Binodini, although marked by

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mistresses of richer and more upper-class men, and a rare few

After marriage, the stipulations became even m

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to make both ends meet.

Binodini, however, still had enough resources at the end of her

i | 1 he phrase parashona meaning "education" or "studies", literally

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mistakes ... I remembered her mistakes and learnt to follow his

regular 'reading sessions' that teachers like Girish Ghosh, Amritlal

In most cases, actresses entered the stage as little girls of seven

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emotional maturity far outstripped her physical growth. It became

she had to be dressed up in much the same manner as young boys

Girish Ghosh's ability to spot and nurture talent was remarkable,

occured frequently enough for actresses to be called after the

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with a specific actress in mind. The director/actor/playwright's

What a world of difference (between the two roles) whether in terms

while acting. As soon as one brought to completion a particular bhava,

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Widow" (1866), a play which continues to be staged even today, the

A desparate Atal replies: "I wouldn't have been so humiliated

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gold)—the chief thing (sic) in town, on my crown!"30

business venture at a time of financial crisis, but it suggests an

prostitute-actress. The cover announces in bold letters, TRAGE

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was really no middle ground to be chosen by a woman in the

The Benefactress of Bengali Vidya,

clearly links the actress dramatist with her semi-educated heroine.

'her story' as well as 'her story'—a narrative where she, Binodini, as