When I began, the concert party or musicians would line up on both sides, at a slightly lower level than the actors. The musicians would set up – a harmonium on each side, the tuba, the cornet, the clarionet, violin, flute, tablas and dholaks, cymbals, bells and the three-cornered “triangle” that you played with a stick. You needed all that for the “jatra sound”.

Someone would hold a gong up to his ear and strike it so hard, we could feel it reverberate in our hearts. As the orchestra started tuning their instruments, we in the green room would pick up the pace and the crowd would know that was the cue to start settling down. The show was about to begin.

The playbill, if there was one, was nothing but a thin cheaply printed piece of paper listing the characters and scenes. The audience would sit on the ground, on sheets of tarpaulin. The “VIP” seats were simply folding chairs. When the “second bell” rang out, the tempo of the music would rise, the drums would get into a frenzy, and as the music reached its climax, someone might shout “Raja! Raja!” “Who calls? Who dares disturb me thus?” And so the jatra...

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