By Jessie Kaur Lehail 
Special to The Post

Nirbhaya in Hindi means ‘fearless one’.
 

It was the epithet Delhi’s urban middle class gave to Jyoti Singh Pandey after news broke of the 23-year-old being brutally gang-raped on a Delhi bus. It would become an epitaph when the physiotherapy student died two weeks later, simultaneously breaking the hearts of tens of thousands of families in the megapolis while sparking mass global attention.

The outrageous brutality of the crime propelled India out of victim-shaming silence and into a movement of solidarity to finally give a voice to women, traditionally the voiceless. Nearly three years after the notorious crime, Nirbhaya the play of the same name sets out to break the silence around acts of violence committed against women.

The play is a series of visceral accounts of rape and abuse as told by the women who experienced them firsthand. It turns political journalism into a riveting theatrical experience focusing on Ms. Pandey’s story, but diverting from it as each actress comes forward with her own story of rape or abuse. Ms. Pandey’s character never speaks a word, instead singing softly in the background. Her presence has a ghost-god like presence over the whole production.
 

The stories, hauntingly reflective have reoccurring themes of fear and empowerment, denial and truth, filth and cleansing. The feeling of erasure is prominent as the women speak. The play acts as a conduit into visibility and exposes the audience to a collective responsibility. A simple set is the backdrop for this heart-wrenching production. The cast is able to construct the chaos of overpopulated New Delhi with exactitude. A place where a woman’s personal space is repeatedly transgressed. 

In Delhi, the sexual molestation and assault of women in public vehicles like buses and trains is viewed by many men as a sport. The mere act of riding a bus, for a woman, is to be “passed from one pair of groping hands to another,” to feel as a woman “you’re everyone’s, every day.” 

The play employs water, fire, and earth to interweave the concept of sacred ritualism and uses two garments: a boy’s shirt and a slip gown to signify a loss of innocence and purity. Violence can smash into life at any time in this world where women live in fear of being victimized. The only redemption available to victims is to know that despite the pain, they can grow stronger if they can find the strength to heal, as the play captures with Persian poet Rumi’s quote, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

While each of the women’s stories are beautiful in their own regard, the lone male in this production is able to seamlessly play a myriad of roles. When he enters every scene there is tension and uncertainty of whether he will be a helper or enemy, this plays into the secondary status women feel in their relations with men.

The brilliance of the storytelling does not victimize these women, rather one is left with the sense these women are survivors. At the play’s close, each performer states her name along with her parents’ – a bold admission of embedded gender socialization. While the performers provide accessibility to their personal stories, it must be understood that violence is not exclusive to India.

Immensely emotive, disturbing and compelling in equal measure, I cannot recommend Nirbhaya enough. This is a play that stays with you, pulls at your heartstrings, challenges your mindset, and provides a glimmer of hope. 

Jessie Kaur Lehail wrote an academic journal article entitled “Technologies of Social Mobilization and Civil Humanity in India: The Rape of 2012” and was the co-organizer of Meri Awaaz, a community symposium on International Women’s Day that focused on domestic abuse engagement and dialogue.