New Zealand’s first full-length Sri Lankan play. A sell-out season before opening night. It’s an exciting premise to the beginning of a new branch of New Zealand-Asian theatre. Upon entering The Basement, the audience is greeted with Karnan Saba’s soundscape, both captivating and subtle, with all the originality and instant identity of a John Williams’ score, and Christine Urquhart’s set design, the remnants of a tsunami stricken Sri Lankan home, and a door behind which we know something is hidden. These spectacle elements are immediately gratifying, but merely teasers to a play that lacks substance of greater, or even equal, value. 

Ahilan Karunaharan’s pioneering script is developed from a solo show post drama school training, developed into an ensemble piece upon “being in the presence of other South Asian actors”. The play is a surreal drama, but, at its heart, there is no conflict. [More] 

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Apparently Prayas Theatre Company has been active in Auckland for 10 years – a fact that’s escaped me till now, so I have no prior experience of their shows. Nor, for that matter, of Sri Lankan theatrical tradition. It’s time to remedy that failing. At least I can claim a day visit to Colombo and Kandi, and some knowledge of Asian classical literature as cultural background – it’s little enough but it’s going to have to serve to prepare me. 

I do, though, recall vividly the horror of the Asian tsunami of 2004, and have before and after memories of some of the devastated areas. A story of one family, post-tragedy, is the basis of The Mourning After. 

New Zealand born Shekar arrives at a coastal village bearing the ashes of his Sri Lankan father. He is greeted in turn by: Kabaragoya, a Komodo dragon (“like a crocodile but more ethnicky”); Raju, who calls in vain for crows that have been missing since the time of the “waves that took away everything” eight years earlier; Uncle Somu, who decades ago had a bit part in the film Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom; Saroja, “the one and only spiteful woman in the village”; and Bala, who says little but listens to an aria from The Pearl Fishers while he sifts through beach sand to recover any buried goods that can be offered for sale. There could be another associated with this family, who inhabit the only house in the area to survive the tsunami, but no one’s talking about that. 

There’s much humour revealed in the characterisations and the cultural differences. Shekar finds his relatives don’t understand his references to what, to him, is quintessential Sri Lanka: Dilmah tea. Yet the strength of the story lies in the poignant situation of the few still present in the place following the devastation.

When Raju shows Shekar around, the sites of interest are the place where the temple once stood, the site of the school he once attended, and where the cinema used to be. The family’s house, and the cemetery where the lost now lie, are all that remain.

The place must be cursed. Jiva, Shekar’s father, never returned as he was supposed to. When the Temple of Doom film crew left they promised they’d come back, but never did. After the tsunami, aid didn’t reach this spot. No one came to help the few survivors. Even the crows abandoned the area – replaced only by Kabaragoya the dragon, who was washed up at the spot by the same evil waves.

Despite it all, Uncle Somu, “a man who has constantly shaken hands with disappointment,” hasn’t given up – he spends his days calling for semi-divine assistance: “Dr Jones, the eminent archaeologist, please save us!” It’s a scenario that’s superficially comic yet heart-breaking in the underlying desperation.

The five actors are uniformly excellent and very well cast. Shaan Kesha as Shekar the Kiwi lad, and Ravi Gurunathan as his Tamil counterpart Raju, are both completely at home and believable in their characters. Anjula Prakash’s portrayal of Kabaragoya, she of the sinuous movements and darting tongue, is not to be missed. Sudeepta Vyas as the formidable Saroja, and Prateek Vadgaonkar as the broken-bodied Bala both give strong performances of their contrasting characters. Then there’s Mastaq Missouri whose playing of Uncle Somu is excellent plus. 

Director Padma Akula must be congratulated for drawing such performances from the cast, and for her vision throughout; and Playwright Ahi Karunaharan could only be thoroughly satisfied by this interpretation of his script. Mention should also be made of the work of set and costume designer Christine Urquhart, Kabaragoya choreographer Kaviesha Abeysinghe, musician Karnan Saba, and designers Brendan Albrey and Bhavnesh Soni.

Together the company has produced a package that only the picky would find fault with.

The Mourning After is claimed to be the first ever full-length (wisely played through without an interval) Sri Lankan play to be staged in New Zealand. It sets a high standard for others to follow.

[Reviews of the original solo version, performed by Ahi Karunaharan, may be found here.] 

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