In our village, there used to be a fair every year by the river. People from villages on the other side of the river used to gather — few known, mostly unknown. But they never remained unknown for long. Every year, during a crimson dusk, the skies would melt as the cymbals played, drums resounded and the bells muttered from the mosque near the ghat. Brown tents flared up through frenzied fumes of the temple dance. In one quiet corner stood my friend, his eyes roaring. We waded through the waters, we ran through the breeze, we kissed the skies, we hung from the trees. The waning moon would wait all night long on the river bank for the lonely flute.

Saurav Palodhi’s skilled staging of Kittonkhola — a celebrated play by Selim Al Deen (1949-2008) — evokes such a sketch, which, like melancholy, grows and passes. This narrative speaks to today’s decadent world of borders — there is the silenced love between Banasreebala (once a sex worker and now a jatra actress) and Rabidas (the lead actor in Nayajug Opera), the impossibility of a relationship between Sonai (a daily wage labourer) and Dalim, who belongs to a lower caste, as well as the endless cycle of corruption practised by the crafty contractor, Idu, who was a victim of the same in his childhood. Among a host of other decent performances, Anujoy Chattopadhyay’s portrayal of Rabidas and Shankar Debnath’s rendition of Idu’s character stand out as stellar acts.

Soumen Chakraborty’s light design blends with the staging to elevate the poetic overtone of this production of Kittonkhola by Iccheymoto. At the end of the play, Debdeep Mukhopadhyay’s music bleeds like a river through the folds of palms held tight, it trickles through the eyes, it oozes through the roots of a tree that holds on to its own piece of land.