In the early eighties, a phrase entered the patois of Bengali streetspeak and immediately established itself as a most serviceable term of abuse. The words 'looje character', habitually used by the rapacious orchard-grabber Nakori in Manoj Mitra's play Sajano Bagan, became an instant hit with young and old alike. The film version of Mitra's play-Banchharamer Bagan-was then running to packed houses, with the playwright himself playing the role of the eponymous old codger.

The first stage production of the play took place in November 1997, two years before Tapan Sinha made it into a film. The original title, Sajano Bagan (which roughly translates as 'the well laid-out garden') was altered slightly in the film version. It is interesting to see the film title preferred in the present translation. Perhaps this is a tacit acknowledgement of the overwhelming popularrity of the cinematic form.

The central protagonists of both plays in the book are old men. In his preface, Mitra dwells at length on this theme:
I have always been fascinated by men with a long past-a past filled with explosives. Such men may explode at any moment, but are never able to, as infirmity sits on the gunpowder like dust. ..They are like anglers patiently waiting with fishing rods for their catch, whereas people of the next generation are always trying to avoid the bait.

Such a person is Banchharam Kapila, passionately attached to his orchard, unwilling to die, staunchly resisting the threats and blandishments of Nakori, the zamindar of the village.

Nakori is egged on from the sidelines by the hysterical ghost of father Chakori, who also performs some sort of choric function in the play. Both the dead father and the living son are obsessed with grabbing Banchharam's plot of land, by hook or by crook. This is a familiar enough theme in Bengali literature, usually couched in the idiom of late nineteenth century realism. But Mitra's treatment rejects realistic conventions in favour of what may provisionally be called theatrical magic realism. The dominant mode is that of slapstick, often verging on the absurd. The dividing line between laughter and violence is uncomfortably thin. For example, here is one of Chakori's tirades against Banchharam:
High hopes! Want a shawl to wrap around you! A hookah to smoke! Some hope for a farmer's son! A matchstick wanting to become a lamp-post! Beat it,you fool! Be a feast for vultures instead! Dinner for the wolves...Nokur, Nokori, let me give you a kiss! A kissa-kissa-kiss, my ugly duckling! In death your father's become negative. But you are my positive child.

Much of the play's appeal stems from such zestful and energetic passages. Mitra himself would probably cavil at being described as a laugh-a-minute playwright but it is also true that without laughter as a vehicle, the play would probably fall flat on its face. Mitra talks about the people of his village in erstwhile East Bengal, who 'never failed to laugh even at their own anguish, despair or misery-not because they tried to appear smart, but because they were really very simple.' Banchharam purports to be the prototype of such a man, though he is often capable of considerable low cunning. Shades of Jaroslav Hlasek's Schweik perhaps, another long-running presence on the Bengali stage.

An Encounter with Royalty (originally Rajdarshan) was written five years after Sajano Bagan, with Lambodar Bhatta as the old man. This time Shani, the god of the inauspicious, appears to deliver the prologue. The setting is ancient Ayodhya, ruled by the lecherous sixty-two year old Nandaraja, afflicted with an incurable illness at the beginning of the play. Lambodar is a 'pathetically beggarly brahman', who journeys to Ayodhya on the back of the village blacksmith, Abhiram, in the hope of profiting from royal freebies. He gets rather more than he bargained for and finds himself inhabiting the body of the dead king as complete chaos engulfs Ayodhya.

The issues here are rather more complex than that of Sajano Bagan-notions of caste, class and power are all vividly dramatised-but the treatment is almost the same. The play is powered by crisp dialogue, farcical set pieces and lacings of black humour. As in Sajano Bagan death-or the prospect of death-acts as both symbol and reality, enabling the playwright to meditate on the nature of human greed and folly. Both plays end on a note of redemption, with the characters being able to achieve a certain measure of grace.