How Teejan Bai became the face of Pandavani and a folk icon
“Ab hum lipishtick bhi lagate hain. Gaon mein koi kuch nahin bolta. Kyunki ab paisa aur naam jo aa gaya (I now even wear lipstick
“Ab hum lipishtick bhi lagate hain. Gaon mein koi kuch nahin bolta. Kyunki ab paisa aur naam jo aa gaya (I now even wear lipstick. People in my village don’t comment because today I have money and fame),” says a young Teejan Bai as she applies a bright red shade sitting in a makeshift green room before her performance on an open-air stage in Nagpur. “Aapko pata hai hum Aumrica jane wale hain (you know, I will be going to America),” she informs excitedly, and it is hard to miss the glint in her heavily kohl-lined eyes. Unlike her powerful narration on stage, Teejan speaks in a measured tone. As she recalls her arduous journey, dabbing some rose powder on her cheeks, she explains that makeup is more than an adornment; it is often a veil, masking years of pain and humiliation endured in her quest for acceptance in the male-dominated world of Pandavani (stories of the Pandavas). The folk art form largely remained unknown until she emerged as its foremost exponent. “Believe it or not, I was beaten by my parents when I first expressed a desire to learn Pandavani”Teejan Bai However, it would be grossly unfair to attribute Teejan’s success solely to her mastery of the art form. Her greatest achievement lay in drawing global attention, in a cultural landscape where classical arts have long enjoyed institutional patronage, to a folk tradition. Equally significant was her refusal to dilute its rustic charm or compromise its intrinsic Chhattisgarhi flavour, even when performing on some of the world’s most prestigious stages.
The dialect, costume and raw dynamism of the form remained intact, irrespective of the setting. “Believe it or not, I was beaten by my parents when I first expressed a desire to learn Pandavani,” she says. “I was fascinated by it since childhood. Growing up, I had seen my maternal grandfather perform and memorised most stories from the Mahabharata simply by listening to them,” she shares, crediting him for teaching her in secret despite staunch opposition. “My parents thought the only way to stop me was to get me married. But they didn’t realise that I would never let anything come between me and my art. I was a born fighter,” she says breaking into a childlike laugh. Teejan was only 12 when she was married. Undeterred, she gave her first public performance at the age of 13. She eventually faced social ostracism, walked out of an abusive marriage and lived alone in a hut. While many believed she had brought disrepute to the community, a few kind neighbours offered her food during those trying times. “When the whole world, including my near and dear ones, turned hostile, I took refuge in Pandavani. After all, I took on the world for its sake. I would practice day and night. I was my own teacher,” she says, smiling as she picks a few betel leaves from a damp cloth and deftly tucks them into her mouth. Once on stage, Teejan transformed into the many characters from the epic through fierce voice modulation, traversing octaves with remarkable ease.
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