Vighneshwara’s Perfection - Act 1
Bhagavata states, “May Vighneshwara, the destroyer of obstacles, who removes all hurdles and crowns all endeavours with success, bless our performance now. How indeed can one hope to describe his glory in our poor, disabled words? An elephant’s head on a human body, a broken tusk and cracked belly—whichever way you look at him he seems the embodiment of perfection, of incompleteness. How indeed can one fathom the mystery that this very Vakratunda-Mahakaya, with his crooked face and distorted body, is the Lord and Master of Success and Perfection?” (74). Vighneshwara’s physical form does not depict the perfection which he is believed to foster. The ironic divergence between his appearance and power to facilitate perfectionism underscores his mysticism which is beyond mortals’ comprehension. The mortals’ perception of perfection is divergent from Vighneshwara’s.
Theatre Critic
Actor I says this of the silent child: "See? No response—no reactions. When he grows up he should make a good theatre critic" (134). This snarky comment is ironic because a theatre critic is supposed to have responses and reactions—after all, this is what they are paid to do. Here, Actor I is suggesting that theatre critics are dull and lame, lacking reactions and responses yet still somehow being lauded for their "effort." A silent child, a theatre critic—they are one and the same.
The Audience
Bhagavata says this twice: "And there is our large-hearted audience. It may be that they fall asleep during a play sometimes" (75). It is gently ironic, poking fun at how theatre audiences can sometimes grow bored or weary with the drama unfolding before them on the stage. They are "large-hearted," meaning they are kind and hospitable, but at the same time they can nod off and not heed the work of the actors. This is an irony, but one with relatively low stakes.
Strangers
When Kapila comes to Padmini's door to woo her for Devadatta, she engages him in a battle of wits (which she wins handily). She piques him and makes him uncomfortable with her wit, asking him to touch her feet and then saying ironically, "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't touch my feet. One can't even trust strangers any more" (89). Of course, one should never (or rarely) trust strangers, but Padmini says this to mess with Kapila's head, for he is obviously kind but not very intelligent. Her irony here demonstrates her salient wit.
