The Warmth of Heartbreak & Rebirth in 'Jwala (Rising Flame)'

Image: Mythili Prakash in Jwala (Rising Flame)

Dressed in a soft, deep yellow, Mythili Prakash’s hand wavers and shakes in vertical motion. The other hand is still, fingers pinched together. As her moving hand tremors, shadow and light glance off her fingertips and the illusion of a flame flickering in the breeze burns into being. A death prayer reverberates through the air. Hope, destruction and death, rebirth – through it all, Prakash returns to and is accompanied by fire in Jwala (Rising Flame).

Embracing the playful nature of a flame in her body, Prakash’s dance is infectiously light and hopeful. Like a fire spreading and claiming its space, she twists and turns, arms weaving through her centre. As a dancer, Prakash is naturally graceful but equally emotional, pouring feeling into every intricate detail of her movement.

An autobiographical work, Prakash evokes memories of her father, his passing and later her motherhood. Kneeling in a downstage corner, Prakash turns into herself as a child. After chivvying her father to read to her, pleasure and innocent affection spreads across her face in listening to him. Chin resting on her hand, her eyes glow as she hangs on to every silent word that only she can hear. We see her tantrum when she is disturbed, but then we wind forward in time. The child has become a woman, and she cradles her father’s head to help him drink. Roles of care reversed, Prakash stays by his side until the very last breath. Despite being a solo performance, Prakash’s memory and expression is so strong you can see an almost tangible impression of her thoughts form around her body. And so, it is heart breaking when she lets go of her father’s hand and smooths what I imagine are bedsheets in one seamless motion, the grief leaking out of every crease on her face. The loss of a loved one is an immeasurable weight, yet Prakash perfectly captures and perhaps relives an enormous pain that can only be present where the dearest love was.

“Be like a cucumber” – the words return as part of the death prayer, a voiceover of Prakash pondering the phrase’s meaning. It means to be free from worldly attachment, but what does it mean to be free? “What if freedom is waiting for us, in all of it?” Prakash asks. Jwala perhaps expresses freedom not in complete detachment, but in the acceptance of grief and beginning another part of life anew. In illuminating the affection of motherhood with scenes of Prakash playing with her daughter, we’re reminded that sorrow can be followed by happiness and hope. That maybe rebirth, in Prakash’s case as a mother rather than as a daughter, is another kind of freedom. Turning back to the flame, Prakash surrenders to an ecstatic dance that feels fuller and wilder than our first introduction to the flame at Jwala’s beginning. Her torso sways back and forth in a ripple. Her shoulders and chest pull back, sternum drawn to the sky, emancipated. In spite of the hurting, there is only warmth here. Jwala is a balm that feels prickly and sharp, then calms to a comforting heat – much like a flame held too close to the skin. Indeed, Prakash’s performance is one that should burn itself into the mind of the viewer with its emotional intensity and honesty.