Written in the aftermath of the partition of the Indian sub-continent into India and Pakistan and the subsequent clashes between Hindus and Muslims, the play Andha Yug: The Age of Darkness is considered one of the most important plays of the twentieth century India, which holds resonances, needless to say, even today; in fact, it is as relevant as the text it is based on—the epic Mahabharata. The Nepali rendition of the play is currently on stage at Mandala Theatre in the Capital. This is the second time the play is being staged in Nepali; the first time being in 2011, at the Rastriya Nachghar and directed by Bhanu Bharti.

The classic tale of war, between the Pandavas and Kauravas—a tale of kinship and vengeance—can be aptly likened to the war we witnessed over the last decade, between the Maoist and the State. In the original Andha Yug, the Mahabharata served as a background for the strife between the Hindus and Muslims, but for this Nepali rendition, the producers have brought the narrative closer to home by adapting the tale to speak to the decade-long civil war. And it is done with great effect, with the narrative getting to the heart of the matter—the cause of the insurgency, its repercussions and a nation’s loss of innocence.

The current rendition of the play, enacted on stage by the trainee artists from Lab 5, does full justice to the play’s central theme. At the onset of the play, the chorus announces, “Jun yug ko barnan yesh kriti ma gariyeko chha, tesko barema bishnu puran ma bhaniyeko chha: Satta usaiko hunechha, jasko sampati hunechha; jasko muharma mukhundo hunechha, usle matra paauchha mahatto. (The age which is described here, about which has been said in Bishnu Puran: The State will be his, who has wealth; only he will get importance, who has a crown on his head.” Yes, it’s exactly the age we live in, an age of the new Nepal, or if we take the play’s cues, it’s the age of darkness.

Andho Yug: The Age of Darkness is a tale that takes place over a single day, the eighteenth and the final day of Mahabharata, when the Kauravas (the cousins to Pandavas) have suffered a bitter loss to their own cousins. We are in Hastinapur, at King Dhritarastra’s palace, and things are looking grim. We are told tales of 17-day long bloodshed by two soldiers (played by Anil Karki and Bikash Panta), who fought the war and lived to tell about it.

The play’s protagonists are not the real protagonists of the epic Mahabharata, which is attributed to have written by Vyasa. Gandhari (played by Suprina Shrestha), the mother of the Kaurabha brothers, has blindfolded herself, in solidarity with her blind husband the King Dhritarastha (played by Kiran Sharma), or perhaps because of her unwillingness to witness the age of darkness.

While the kingdom of Kauravas lay mourning the loss of the war, it’s one Aswotthama (played by Aayan Khadka) who, teetering at the edge of delirium, tries to exact one last revenge against the Pandavas, the victors, by annihilating the world with the use of Brahmaastra—the all-powerful and all-destructive weapon. It’s magnificent to see Aswotthama’s mad courage, which is enacted skillfully by Khadka, a highlight performance of the show.

Baral’s retelling of the famous drama is further complimented by an apt set and uses lightings rather well—frolicking between the moods, oscillating between shades of red and blue. Credit is also due to the stellar translation by Rajendra Shalav. If the Hindi verses were not handled expertly, as Shalav has, they would render the essence of the play hollow, but here they all make sense, and even take the narrative further.