The Father and The Assassin in this historical drama are respectively Mahatma Gandhi, portrayed by Paul Bazely, and his nemesis, Nathuram Godse, Hiran Abeysekera.
The play opens on a vision of the three bullets that Godse used to kill Bapu a.k.a. The Father of his nation. This work does not follow a linear path, broadly following the converging and diverging fortunes of the duo from relatively early in the 20th century through Indian independence, partition and what Godse asks us to think of as his “murder” of the great advocate of peace.
To tell their story, the National Theatre’s Director Designate, Indhu Rubasingham, has favoured an open, impressionistic production on a relatively bare, abstract set designed by Rajha Shakiry. After that opening, we are sent back in history to a period when Gandhi was attempting to promote independence from the British Raj, working hand-in-hand with lawyers Nehru, Jinnah and Patel and using economic boycott as a weapon of peace and attempting to repeat the success that he achieved in South Africa through Satyagraha (holding on to truth per Britannica).
At the same time, the audience is introduced to the strange world of Nathu, brought up as a girl to appease the gods and invested with the powers of an Oracle thanks to his / her ability to communicate with a Goddess.
The first half of the play is largely narrated in a flippant, jokey style by The Assassin, before the tone gets more serious as the political situation worsens. The youngster is transformed into a boy, Nathuram, and taken up by Gandhi, becoming a committed follower. However, the Mahatma somehow manages to turn non-violent protest into something confrontational, threatening to give up politics on principle after a massacre of police.
The story then develops into a series of conflicts that prefigure those between the peace-loving Martin Luther King and a man with similar goals but very different methods, Malcolm X. While Gandhi is the King figure, the equivalent to X is Tony Jayawardena’s opinionated Savarkar, a man seemingly happier to preach war to promote Aryan principles than wage it personally. Instead, he enlists the assistance of Godse and his friend, Sid Sagar’s Narayanan Apte.
They follow an inevitable path, railing against the civil disobedience movement in the belief that the only way to achieve the supremacy that they desire is through more direct action fuelled by hatred. When partition is achieved and two million die as Muslims head to Pakistan and Hindus back to the southern parts of India, Gandhi continues to believe in peaceful ways but many others disagree.
What is almost the finale is therefore inevitable. However, after the leading pair’s destiny is fulfilled, Anupama Chandrasekhar has a final message to deliver to audiences today. This comes via an incredibly powerful closing speech delivered by an impassioned Nathuram Godse at the end of a two-hour running time. Its content is metaphorically explosive, invoking hatred and sectarian division that can be worryingly reminiscent of recent words from several of this country’s leading politicians.
The Father and The Assassin is simultaneously a history lesson, a dual biography and also a message from the past to those living today. As such, it deserves to be viewed widely.
National Theatre at Home is available on subscription, broadcasts in HD, costs only £9.99 for a month or £99.99 for a year. At the time of reviewing, the only version available online featured audio description, which is not intrusive.