The Past for the Present

Sir William Rothenstein, president of London's Royal College of Arts, felt justified in feeling peeved that day in 1923: his star pupil was deserting him. Young Uday Shankar, who had come all the way from India to study painting, was about to join Anna Pavlova's ballet troupe. "Please, persuade Mme. Pavlova not to do this," Sir William begged a friend. Replied Pavlova: "Please tell Sir William that Shankar is a born dancer. He must dance. Oh, he must dance."

So Shankar danced. He danced in Vienna, Paris, New York, and all over India. He stuck close to his country's classical traditions, mastered its every style, from the elegant Manipuri to the fast-footed Kathak. In time, he became the greatest male dancer India has.

Last week, Uday Shankar was back in the U.S. Americans would see him dance again, but this time only on the screen. Shankar had spent three years and a fortune in rupees, making a two-hour movie about India, told largely in dance; and he is planning a cross country U.S. tour to show it. Audiences would find Kalpana's story as jumbled as a dream--full of plots and subplots, visions and fantasies, and plays within plays. At times, the story borders on absurdity. But as a picture of Indian dancing, Kalpana would tell them nearly everything.

Shankar has included about 60 dance sequences--of peasants and gods, love and death, of factories and demons. Swords clash and warriors strut; lovers grieve and stab themselves; workers are whipped; gods curse; a group of students rebel against their teachers. In all these dances, Shankar uses only Indian instruments, the ancient ragas (modes), and the hundreds of gestures--a bent finger, a turned-up toe, a roll of the eyes--that have carried the same meanings to Indians for centuries.

During the war, Shankar was forced to close the Culture Center which he built in Almora to remind India of its ancient dances. Now, at 48, he hopes to open another one. Shankar's crusade to give Indian music back to the Indians has not always been easy. For much of modern India, with its "hateful, rotten towns, its drinking and enjoying," he cares little. The Indian public doesn't always care for Shankar either, he admits. It thinks his art is often "too high--no cheap songs," says Shankar, "no cheap jokes."

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