Draupadi is not only the most fascinating character in the Mahabharat, she is written about so much, that she has become an icon of female power.

In 2010, Dinesh Thakur bravely attempted a one-woman play Prashn Panchali, based on a series of poems by Sunita Budhiraja.  There are pros and cons doing a production that takes its content from the epics—the Mahabharat in this case; there is the undying appeal of the drama and mystique of the characters, but on the other hand is the familiarity (over tellings and retellings through various media, mainly cinema and television) with the stories therein. Still, this play has not just survived over the years but has travelled a lot in India and abroad.

For one who is Hindi-speaking and steeped in the literary tradition of the language, just the pleasure of hearing it in a pure form in the midst of the hybrid patois that is commonly spoken.  It is language meant to be spoken in a formal way, and heard with just the right bit of reverence.

Preeta Mathur takes to the simple set alone, but brings with her the weight of the epic and confronts the audiences’ ingrained cultural perceptions. The set has a giant sized flute, that indicates the omnipresence of Krishna in the Mahabharat and in the play’s disjointed narrative.  She is dressed in traditional finery, but with just a change of angavanstra, and a change of voice she becomes different characters from Kunti to Krishna and Draupadi, Gandhari, Duryodhan, Karna, Arjun, Bhim and others in between.

The play does not really challenge what we already know and believe about the Mahabharat, but it does portray both Gandhari and Draupadi in a more aggressive stance than popular literature allows; and has a rather interesting dimension of friendship between Draupadi and Krishna. 

Still, the female characters have in them an overwhelming torment, and questions for a patriarchy that ignores their desires—Gandhari did not want marry a blind man, not one of Draupadi’s five husbands protested her ‘division’ between them, they just took their mother’s “baant lo” instruction so literally.

Mathur may not have a towering stage presence, but she has the sincerity, the clarity of diction and conviction.  So even of many in the audience may not quite understand the language, just the rhythm and emotions get communicated with ease.

The play is perfectly suited for the small, alternative venues that have sprung up all over Mumbai (and other cities too), because an intimate setting automatically results in more attentive viewing, and also interacting with an audience. Some the questions the play raises are universal.. and eternal.