Sampreeti. Amity. That imponderable, the thread of cordiality that binds the eight clubs of the city through that potent medium, drama. In Bengali. To remember those young men and women who had braved the bullets and batons of the police on Ekushe February sixty seven years ago at Dacca University to establish Bangla as the official language of erstwhile East Pakistan. A movement that crescendoed two decades later through the savagely punishing path of rape, torture and genocide, finally to emerge a free Bengali nation. When the Sampreeti initiative had been first launched, Debkumar Ghosh reminisced, Bibhas Chakrabarty, an eminent thespian, whose benediction the clubs had then sought, expressed his scepticism on how long the clubs would be able to carry it forward. Seventeen year s later the  gentleman, grown hoary in the two intervening decades, graced the inauguration this last Thursday, the 20th of February, and commended the unflagging tenacity that nurtured and propelled Bengali theatre among the clubs.

DI’s turn came on the last day, Saturday, the 23rd. SHESH THEKE SHURU. Seen through the lens of a photographer who scarcely manages to make the proverbial recalcitrant ends meet by clicking dead bodies before their ultimate consignment to the flames. In that room, run to seed with rickety furniture and plaster sloughing off, landlord hounding the shutterbug for unpaid rent, author, Satya Bandopadhyay, portrays society in all its diverse manifestations. From the pining of Dwitiyo on what to tell his six-year-old where his mother has gone, to the mysterious death of meshomoshai’s niece, who Bhabesh suspects has been a victim of honour-killing – a twist that brings the inevitable police into the scene – to Prabhat Ghoshal, reduced to penury in his futile effort to save his wife. A rough diamond, Nilmoni betrays his inner self when he mourns for his assistant, Bhola, who fakes his own death to redeem his integrity. Bhola, the personification of naivety, fishes out, to his horror, the acephalous photograph of Nepal’s aunt, which he dubs Nepal’s kathmundu and which he tries the faux pas of replacing with that of another woman only to be roundly berated that the alta-sindoor adorned cadaver could never be the dead aunt, a widow and, hence, traditionally shorn of such embellishments. Nilmoni finally realizes the morbid nature of his profession and resolves to train his camera on happier occasions like birthdays, weddings and annaprasans. He seals his decision by capturing in one frame Bhola and Rani, who the photographer had all along suspected was wooing that dimwit of a side-kick. Thus commences, shuru, a new beginning from, theke, the end, death, shesh.

For a venture that has had less than a month’s rehearsal, it must be admitted to their credit that team DI put up a commendable performance. Jayajit Biswas as Bhola and Shovan Dutt as Nilmoni, redeemed their roles, never mind the occasional complaints of inaudibility from the audience. Biplab Dasgupta shone in his cameo. 

Raja Mukhopadhayay, Avik Bhattacharya, Subham Poddar and Shantanu Roy executed double roles along with the bit roles of Saibal Sen and Sanjay Mukherjee. Paromita Roy proved a convincing soprano. Dasgupta conceded that the bulk of the direction had been conducted by Sukumar Bandopadhyay, an exercise the audience acclaimed with applause.

If the cast had repaired thereafter to the club for a round of drinks, they deservedly merited it.